On the Other Side
by Reaper Nanashi
Summary: The war is over. Chuck is dead, taking with him Herc's only reason for anything. While debating what to do with himself, Herc leaves his old home and moves into a duplex. On the other side lives a young woman with a two-year-old son, and though she's a tad strange Herc finds that she and her son make life alone a bit easier. More familiar. Maybe . . . a little TOO familiar . . .
1. The Girl Next Door

**Author's Notes:** First chaptered PR fic, but not the first PR fic I've written. Or am writing. :/ Just taking a break from writing a long, long story that's ultimately meant to give Jazmine a backstory in as much accordance with canon as possible.

For any _Naruto_ fans: I have not forgotten you, but I'm _way_ behind on _Shippuuden_ , so your continued patience is as deeply appreciated as ever.

 **Word Count:** 8,952 ( **Total:** 8,952)

 **Rating:** T for language and some light sexual situations (all clothing stays on, but those who are squeamish about age gaps beware)

 **Spoilers:** Requires having seen the end of the movie, which you really should have by now.

 **Date Submitted:** 1/6/18

 **Claimer/Disclaimer:** For those who don't know, Jazmine is actually legit as far as canon goes, at least in name. There isn't much offered about her otherwise except within the questionable accuracy of the novelization. I took liberties.

 **The Reasoning Behind It:** This originally started out as a Chuck-haunts-Herc story, where Jazmine could see ghosts and mistakenly believed Chuck was harassing Herc, while Herc—who's just moved into an apartment on the same floor as hers—thinks she's schizophrenic or something and tries to avoid her. Jason ended up being added, with similar storytelling goals as in this fic. Then it became this. Just goes to show how ideas evolve. The ghost-seeing bit I stuck into something else (which may or may not be posted, because it was connected to a fanfic fanfic that I wrote in desperation when a fic I was reading suffered a long break before its final chapter).

* * *

 **Chapter 1** **– The Girl Next Door**

* * *

Herc thanks the movers and closes the door. He looks down at the unfamiliar stone floor of the vestibule for a moment to brace himself. To say a final goodbye to what had been. He inhales deeply, exhales slowly. Then he lifts his head and takes in his new home. His quiet home.

His empty home.

It's reflexive, the way he opens his mouth to call out and locate his son—make sure Chuck is nearby and safe. But his vocal cords fail to function properly, and his son's name does not emerge.

Herc closes his eyes. Inhales deeply, exhales slowly.

Lets the pain come, fill him, and fade to something a bit more manageable.

That's the whole reason he's moved—to maybe help the pain fade a little faster. Not that he has any idea what he'll do if it does. His family is dead. He's just about middle-aged. Unless he goes back to the RAAF, he has no job prospects. No job history. He can probably live on whatever money he—and Chuck, since they had put each other's name on their accounts, just in case—had saved over time, but contrary to popular opinion rangers had never received a lot of financial compensation for their work; with the shatterdome providing room and board for rangers and their families, it had not been needed. Thus a life without work would by necessity lack everything but the most basic conveniences, and perhaps one trip somewhere each year, to visit friends or the like. He's perfectly capable of living like that, being naturally frugal, but can't see much of a point.

Once again, suicide rears its ugly head. He could sell the house, his truck and his motorcycle, his furniture, donate every cent to a charity or two, stick his gun in his pocket in case it's needed, and get a ride to the edge of the outback. Then he'd go on a permanent walkabout. It's a simple plan that doesn't burden anyone with cleaning up after him; he wouldn't expect anyone to ever find his body, nor would he care if it rotted away under the sun, and he isn't religious enough to worry what would happen to his soul if his body lacked a so-called proper burial. He'd just disappear, and those who knew him best would surely figure out in time what had happened.

Suicide goes against his military training and his personal feelings, but oh, how tempting it is.

"Oh, bub," he sighs, thinking of his wife and how much he needs her natural sense of optimism, "what am I supposed to do now?"

The doorbell chimes.

Herc blinks, glances over his shoulder, and murmurs, "I guess I open the door." He turns and does so.

On his new front stoop is a young woman. Well, young compared to him, at least—she's probably in her mid-twenties somewhere. Almost half his age. She looks somewhat familiar, but he can't place her.

"Hello," she says, momentarily startling Herc with her obvious American accent. "Sorry to bother you, but everyone's been telling me that this unit had been purchased. I heard all the noise and came by to be nosy."

He appreciates her candor. "Well, I'm here. It's just me." He tilts his head. "So you live over there?" He makes a vague gesture in the direction of the other half of the duplex.

"Yes sir," she confirms. "I wanted to let you know that I have a son, and he's still young enough that he doesn't necessarily keep normal hours. I know the soundproofing is terrible along the firewall so I put his room on the far end of my unit, but if he bothers you, please let me know."

"I'm sure it won't be a problem," Herc tells her. He isn't planning on doing anything with himself for the foreseeable future, so the idea of poor sleep caused by a needy baby doesn't concern him.

"I hope not." She lifts a covered casserole dish between them. "I also thought I'd bring something to eat. I figured that whoever moved in would be busy unpacking and not have the time to cook or any interest in cooking."

Herc has brought all his kitchenware, but in truth he's a lackluster cook and hasn't been looking forward to it. "Thanks. That's helpful, really." He accepts the dish. "Looks like I could eat on this for a few days."

She grimaces. "I'm afraid I didn't know how many were moving in, so I decided it best to err on the side of caution. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he says. "I'm awful in the kitchen. This is grand."

She's clearly relieved. "Oh, good. Uh . . . If you need help moving furniture around, don't hesitate to let me know. I'm pretty strong. And I work from home, so my time is flexible."

It'll be a cold day in hell before he bothers a young mother about helping him move furniture. "I'll keep that in mind."

A baby begins to fuss next door, old enough to very clearly call for his mother's attention. She glances that way, then refocuses on him. "Well, that's all the free time I get this evening." She inclines her head toward him in a strange half bow that seems almost like an archaic gesture of respect. "Welcome home, sir."

"Thanks," he says again. He lifts the dish slightly. "I'll get this back to you—"

"Whenever," she interrupts. "I don't entertain, so I won't miss it. Take your time."

"All right . . ."

With that, she's gone, without even telling Herc her name.

* * *

Her name is Jazmine Lapierre.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says when Herc returns the casserole dish three days later and introduces himself. She takes her turn and then adds, "Family paranoia—pretty much bred into me. Pay it no mind. Just nod and grunt and I won't notice a difference."

It's also the first time he meets her son—a charming tyke of perhaps two or three years who sits quietly on his mother's hip, one little hand fisted in his mouth, big blue eyes gazing up at Herc with all the awe of a child trying to decipher every secret of the world, too eager to be a grownup. At seeing him, Herc feels a twinge; the boy looks almost exactly the way Chuck had at the same age.

"And this is Jason," she adds, giving the toddler a gentle bounce. "Jason Scott."

Herc feels another twinge at the memory of his brother, but smiles. "Hey there, kiddo."

She looks down at Jason and surprises Herc by purring with a distinctly Australian enunciation, "Will you say 'hello' to Mister Hansen for Mummy?"

In a fit of shyness Jason attempts to turn away, but his head collides with his mother's breast. So he jams his fist farther into his mouth instead. But then he removes it and murmurs with an endearingly soft, very Australian inflection, "Hello."

The little brat is adorable.

Herc refocuses on Jazmine before he gets too attached. "You don't want him to have an American accent?"

"I daresay that no parent wants her child to have a particular accent," she counters in the American accent he's familiar with. "But in his case I'm figuring he'll more or less spend his life here, so he may as well sound like it. Fitting in will be easier for him."

And it's shameful that fitting in is even necessary. Herc can remember a time when it mattered far less, but that has changed with the kaiju. "You aren't going back to America?"

She shrugs. "Not necessarily planning to stay here, either."

That makes no sense, but he takes the hint from her sudden evasiveness and lets the matter drop.

* * *

Part of Herc's morning schedule is to go for his usual hour-long jog. If the evening isn't too hot, he takes a walk to familiarize himself with the neighborhood. A lot of the neighbors are his age or older and they take evening walks themselves, so he's able to meet them on neutral ground. And they certainly have a lot to say. He discovers a veritable gold mine of information the day he comments on Jazmine's twice-daily runs.

"There she goes again," he says to an elderly man whose home is well down the street. He's never seen her walk to cool down during her runs; she just pushes Jason in a special stroller and cruises on by with a stride that's near to a fleeing gazelle's. He doubts she runs like that without the stroller to lean on, but it's still weird as hell. He also never sees her starting or ending one of her runs—always catches her somewhere in the middle of them—so he doesn't know how long they are.

"Tires you just to watch her, doesn't it?" the man says with a chuckle.

"I just don't understand why," Herc replies. "I jog in the morning, but . . ."

"Girl drinks petrol, I suppose," the old man tells him. "Always moving whenever I see her."

"Have you known her long?"

"For a given value of 'know,' perhaps. I was here when she moved in, and there was a lot of concern that she'd be a problem, being young and all—loud music, parties at all hours—but she made nothing so much as a ripple. Takes her morning run, goes indoors until the afternoon, maybe goes to a shop, just before sundown takes her evening run, and then she's in for the night. Don't see her again until morning. Doesn't seem to ever work, either, unless she telecommutes."

Two days later, an elderly woman who lives across the street offers a less sparkling review.

"She's a rude one, that girl. And selfish. Typical American. Peter lived on the other side a while back, and she was always telling him he had his television up too loud."

"Did he?"

"He was hard of hearing, so he may have. But she started calling the police on him, even though he told me it was her baby that kept him up all night so he couldn't do anything except watch television. After he moved into a home, a young woman her age moved into his place. She was a darling, always helpful, but that little witch found ways to cause trouble, and she moved out within a year. Same with the handful who followed. Give her time, and that girl will chase everyone who moves into that house out of it."

Herc makes note of that. "Is she divorced or the like? A single mum?" Jazmine has a child, but he has yet to see or hear of the boy's father. If there is one, though, he doesn't want to be caught unawares.

"Oh, who knows? Girl doesn't talk much about herself, though she certainly likes to ask about everyone under the sun. There was a young man who used to stop by every now and again, but it's been a few months since I've seen him. She likely chased him away too. I hope she moves out before her boy gets too much bigger—I expect he'll be a terror."

Herc finds that hard to reconcile with his personal experience, and for a flash of an instant he's inexplicably angry with the old woman and wants to give her a piece of his mind. He manages to wrestle the urge down and, with a feeling akin to the sort he'd felt when he'd used his body and words to keep Chuck from insulting someone, firmly apologizes for taking up her time.

* * *

One afternoon, he finds Jazmine walking along the road. The local roads are quiet, so he slows and puts his window down, then leans out and calls to her, "Car dead?"

She seems to be almost stiff-shouldered at first, but when he speaks she looks over, and her expression is at ease. She smiles. "No. The grocery I prefer is just a few blocks this way. Don't see a reason to drive, normally."

"There's a shop up there?"

"Yep."

He'd had no idea and been on his way to a franchise a few kilometers away. "Hop in and show me."

So she tosses Jason's special stroller into the bed of his truck—before he can do more than open his door to get out to assist her with it—and climbs into the passenger seat. Jason sits quietly on her lap as she gives directions, alternately gazing around the cab and staring at him.

Herc never would have found the place if she hadn't guided him. It's obviously a shop, but _tiny_.

"It's locally owned, and specializes in fresh local stuff," she says with pride. "I get all my food here. It's all organic. Good for my baby. I come by every few days. Don't get much, which is why I don't drive."

The place has a healthy patronage, with most of the "aisles"—comprised of long tables of produce rather than towers of shelving—having one or two people foraging in them. Herc finds he likes the place; it's smaller and somewhat darker than a franchise, offering a sense of privacy that's entirely absent in the bigger shops despite the fact that everyone there can see everyone else, yet still has plenty of light to read and examine by. It almost seems as though the place is supposed to mimic the inside of a barn, but it smells perfectly clean and fresh.

Herc grabs a cart that's smaller than the usual sort and follows Jazmine and Jason up and down the aisles. Around them, patrons chitchat and joke with each other, interacting in ways they _never_ would have in a bigger shop. Herc sees just how different the shop is about fifteen minutes into his visit, when he hears a pager go off. He looks toward the sound and sees a man checking one, then watches as the man turns and runs out the doors. Herc's about to go back to his shopping when he notices the way literally _everyone_ else in the shop—even Jazmine—is watching the doors. A sedan roars past a moment later.

Someone points dramatically at the man's abandoned cart and shouts, " _Get that list_!"

Both of the women in the aisle with the cart dive for it, and after fumbling around one flings her arms into the air in triumph. She's holding a long piece of paper. "Got it!" The other woman takes hold of the cart, and some of the remaining patrons start racing around, repositioning themselves for some upcoming event.

"You're good," Jazmine tells Herc. "Stay put."

"Why?"

She grins. "That man is with the fire brigade. Firefighters, EMTs, and policemen—and I presume military servicemen, but they don't tend to get called away like this—always get ten percent off their total bill for shopping here. If they have to leave before they finish and happen to have a list, anyone who helps finish their shopping gets five percent off."

Five percent isn't a lot when you're buying something in small quantities because it'll go bad if it sits too long, but in a world that tends to both worship and hoard the almighty dollar, Herc is still impressed by the owner's willingness to do even that much. In a city the size of Sydney, there's bound to always be a fire or some other crisis in need of dealing with, and that creates a big potential for lost revenue if a responder happens to be visiting the shop at that time. "So what do I do?"

"Just watch. You'll figure it out."

The woman with the list reads an item from it. Immediately, another woman a few aisles down raises her hand and calls, "Here!" The woman in control of the firefighter's cart takes it to her, and she sets the item gently inside. The woman with the list reads off another item, and the process repeats itself. No one moves; everyone has put their own shopping on hold to participate. It's not very long before the fun is over—and it is fun, even though all Herc ends up doing is watching—and a smiling employee emerges from the back somewhere to claim the cart and presumably stick it in a refrigerator to keep the produce chilled. Then, just like that, everyone goes back to their own shopping as though nothing happened.

"How do you know how much he wants?" Herc asks.

Jazmine shrugs one shoulder. "Since there isn't generally any measurement, we choose based on the price per bushel or whatever." She points at the sign over the apples. "We get just one of anything. We know that, and if this has happened to him before then he knows it too. If he wants more or less, he makes the adjustments whenever he returns. One of the employees will return whatever he doesn't want to the tables, and if it can't go back out for some reason it gets donated to the needy."

That makes sense.

Upon making his purchases a short time later, Herc isn't so surprised that the cashier recognized him and he received the ten percent off without having said anything, but he _is_ surprised to discover that he also gets the five percent off, even though he never actually contributed. When he brings it up, the cashier waves him off with a smile, says that no mistake has been made, and begins to ring up the next customer.

"You can't know what's on anyone's shopping list," Jazmine says from ahead of him, where she and Jason are waiting for him. "But you were willing to simply inconvenience yourself for the sake of someone who risks his life on a daily basis. That's all that matters."

Herc decides he _really_ likes the place.

Since they're heading the same direction, Jazmine acquiesces to a ride home in the truck. Herc waits until she's safely in her half of the duplex with her groceries and stroller and son and has closed her front door before he steps into his own home. It's dark and silent and lonely.

He hates it.

* * *

"Do you mind dogs?"

Jazmine blinks. "Dogs?"

"I'm thinking of getting a dog."

Max has been gone for months—back with the family he originally belonged to, who were forced to leave him behind during a kaiju raid and never able to find him after they were displaced by a new exclusion zone that encompassed their property and home. Chuck apparently encountered them at some point, because they possessed a note written in his hand that Max was to be returned to them in the event of his death. The adolescent children were a little disappointed when their mother offered Herc the chance to keep the dog—the agreement, she said, had been made under the assumption that Herc would have died as well—but he really hadn't wanted the good-natured ball of wrinkles around anymore, for a couple of reasons. So he went home, gathered all of Max's things, and turned them and the bulldog over.

Sometimes he regrets it, but not often. Max is the sort of creature who will always be young at heart, a trait that had worked wonders for Chuck but would have been wasted on Herc. He figured that if he changed his mind about having a dog he could adopt an old one no one wanted, or perhaps a retired police or military dog. Something that is as old or older than he is, in dog years, so that if he goes downhill and gives up, he won't have to wait long to be free and clear to do whatever he chooses. He thinks he'll still go with an old or retired dog, but for the moment it'll be to just give it a nice home before the end.

Jazmine shakes her head. "My parents each had a dog—large breed—when they met, so I grew up around them. I like them just fine, so long as they behave themselves." She frowns a bit and looks at the back yard, in which Jason is rolling about. "I wouldn't want Jason and any sort of dog to interact unsupervised, though, so I guess we'd have to put up a fence somewhere."

Herc doesn't want to have to deal with an inner fence whenever he mows the lawn. Trimming along the boundary fence is bad enough. Before he can say anything, though, an egg timer goes off in her kitchen.

"'Scuse me a minute," she says as she gets to her feet and goes indoors, leaving Jason to his own devices. She reappears in her kitchen window and glances out, then vanishes again. She isn't gone long before she returns to the porch and sits down again. "I'm _really_ sorry," she says, sounding mortified. "I don't know what I was thinking, leaving Jason out here so you had to watch him."

Herc shrugs. "No harm done. And never mind about the dog. It was just a thought."

She looks at him, a bit distressed. "Are you sure? Jason doesn't need a lot of room yet."

"You're right that they couldn't be unsupervised, but I don't want to mow around more fencing. It's fine." Maybe he'd adopt an old cat instead.

"I'm sorry," she says again. She gets to her feet. "Here, come inside and let me feed you . . ."

Herc wants to say no, but he has no plans for feeding himself yet. When Jazmine collects Jason and takes him inside, Herc follows without protest. She instructs him to wash his hands and have a seat, and disappears with Jason for a few minutes. When she returns the boy's hands and face are clean, though his clothes are still stained with grass. Herc likes that—that she's protective of Jason but not to the point of keeping him so clean the shine from his skin would blind an airplane pilot. She sets him in his high chair and buckles him in, puts a little bib on him, then washes her own hands and doles out the most delicious-looking BLTs Herc has seen in years.

"What do you want to drink?" she asks. "Tea, lemonade, or water?"

"Beer?" A beer would go great with the BLT.

"Sorry, I only drink wine."

Oh well. "Lemonade's fine." Herc isn't a huge tea-drinker.

The lemonade doesn't quite match up to the ambrosia that his wife could produce, but it's still damn good. The BLT is of similarly high quality. The accompanying chips are clearly store-bought, but not over-baked and are lightly crisped on the outside but gloriously soft on the inside. Herc is _very_ glad he didn't fight her about where he'd be eating, and he's _very_ disappointed when it's all gone.

Jazmine looks at his plate, a touch startled. "Good?"

He isn't going to lie. "Ripper."

She smiles. "I'd offer to get you more, but I'm not that well-bred. Fixin's are on the counter."

Herc doesn't care about her breeding. His legs aren't broken.

The second BLT isn't quite as good as the first. He can tell Jazmine added something to the first one that he left out of the second one. "Something's missing," he reports.

"Let me see," she says, and leans across the table. He pulls the sandwich apart for her, and she surveys his work. "Oregano?"

Never heard of it. "What-o?"

Jazmine gets up and goes to the counter, slides a shaker from the herb and spice rack near the preparation area, and returns to sprinkle a sampling over his tomato and lettuce. "Try it now."

He puts the halves back together and takes a bite, then nods. That's it.

She sets the shaker on the table and sits down to finish her own meal. Herc glances at Jason, who was given his BLT as a dry salad instead of a sandwich; he's made a mess with it, and is actively attempting to make a bigger one. Jazmine watches a shred of lettuce flop down next to her plate, then sticks a chip in her mouth. He is _trying_ to eat, though, Herc sees—he just isn't coordinated enough to be as accurate about it as they might like.

Herc turns to Jazmine. "What were they like?" he asks. "The people who were over there before me." He gestures at his half of the duplex.

Jazmine raises an eyebrow. "You've been speaking with Miss Llewellyn."

He doesn't know who Miss Llewellyn is, but from Jazmine's tone he can make a guess. "And if I have?"

She sighs. "Mister Dillon was fine, except for the fact that he grew senile and kept trying to come into my home. That wouldn't have bothered me so much if he hadn't accused me of breaking and entering into _his_ place and called the police on me. For being in my own home. Then when Jason was born he cried a lot, of course, and that made Mister Dillon very angry; the man could barely hear anything else, but apparently he could hear an infant crying crystal clear. At first he just left his television on at all hours with the volume cranked up—he claimed it was 'to drown out that noise'—but then he started threatening to beat Jason if I wouldn't."

She shrugs. "I drew the line there. My house stayed locked, and whenever he began rattling doorknobs I called the police. I didn't know why he was out there, but I couldn't risk him hurting Jason. Because if he had been able to, I would have killed him. Eventually, the police contacted his family—who as far as I can tell never checked up on him or otherwise knew his condition—and he was moved into a facility for the elderly."

Herc doesn't blame her. Even an old man could kill a baby. He doesn't see what else she could have done, other than take a cricket bat to the man, and that would've landed her in court for assault and battery.

"After him was a woman with connections to the BuenaKai. I didn't want her around Jason."

Herc grimaces. "Preachy?"

"No," she says. "That was why she was so dangerous." She points at the sheer curtains over her windows. "She was very sweet to everyone, even me, but I watched her snoop during the day. I put up some infrared cameras and discovered that she was snooping at night, too—trying the doors and windows. Particularly Jason's window. It was obvious she didn't want anything from me, but she sure as hell wanted something from my son."

Like other religions, _BuenaKai_ is a broad term for the thousands of kaiju-worshipping cults that sprang up all over the world when kaiju began appearing regularly. Some of these cults interact but many don't, and because they follow local culture and tradition there's always at least one cult willing to do something the others won't. The BuenaKai cults that abduct children for conversion or sacrifice tend to exist mainly in Africa plus parts of Asia and the Middle East, but there is nevertheless a branch or two in theoretically "more civilized" places like Australia and the Americas and Europe. Herc feels a chill of furious alarm at such a close call, but tamps it down. The woman is gone and Jason is clearly safe.

"After that was a series of flakes. Jason was sleeping all night by then, but he did cry during the day. Most of them didn't have a job unless they telecommuted, and some of those stayed out partying until four a.m. and then came back screaming because they were blitzed and had no self-control, but they _all_ wanted me to know how much my baby was keeping them from getting their beauty sleep and making their hangovers worse. They all moved out without me having to do anything except sit here and put up with them."

Jazmine smiles. "And now you've moved in. I hope you stay."

Herc is beginning to think he wants to.

* * *

Herc is less resistant the next time Jazmine offers to feed him lunch, and even less so the time after that. At some point he just starts showing up at approximately the right time, and she simply puts a plate in front of him. She then begins to see him off with the leftovers from the previous night's supper, which taste pretty good even reheated. He discovers for sure one morning that there's no way or reason to fight it.

That morning he goes on his usual jog, and as he returns home he notices that one of Jazmine's car's doors is open. He thinks that odd—because he's literally never seen Jazmine actually _start_ her car, let alone drive it—until he realizes someone's rummaging around in the vehicle. He bristles at the intrusion, but as he's turning to go up her drive and confront the person, Jazmine straightens with something in hand.

She sees his movement and spins around to face him, visibly startled and angry to be caught by surprise. When she recognizes him, though, she smiles, waves, and says, "Breakfast?"

He jogs right past her and into her house.

He starts having breakfasts at her house too. She continues feeding him lunch and giving him her leftovers.

The food in his refrigerator goes bad. He throws it out without feeling much about the waste.

In fact, he's starting to feel . . . _happy_.

One afternoon, Jazmine runs a hand into her hair and sighs. "You know . . . would you just like to come by for every meal? If it's necessary I can add another serving to whatever I make, no problem; as you know, most of the time I'm wrapping something up anyway. And that way you don't have to worry about feeding yourself unless you're out somewhere. You can keep guy snacks and beer in your refrigerator."

Herc blinks. He doesn't mind the idea, but for some reason it seems sudden. Maybe because he didn't have to think about it or ask. "I . . . suppose I could do that . . ." He also doesn't know what she means by "guy snacks."

"Good! Breakfast is always anywhere from seven to eight in the morning, depending on how cooperative my son is. Lunch is around one, and supper is at six or seven. Usually closer to seven."

Herc decides he doesn't care what "guy snacks" are. He's sold. "I'll be there."

Of course, he just about ruins it on the very first day, when he says over supper, "Do you mind if I ask about your husband?"

She lifts her head, surprised. "What?"

He drops his gaze to her left hand and nods. He'd noticed quite some time ago but hadn't felt comfortable asking because he'd never seen anyone—let alone a man—visit her. He still doesn't feel comfortable asking, but if he's going to be eating every meal at her house he doesn't want things to get any more awkward than they have to be should her husband suddenly walk in after being away on a business trip or the like. "I noticed you're married."

Jazmine lifts her left hand and looks at the gold band circling her ring finger as though it's something alien, then begins to twist it around her finger with her thumb. "Oh. Oh, no. It's . . ." She pulls in a deep breath and blows it out slowly. "It's just an engagement ring."

It's curiously plain for an engagement ring, but Herc fails to see any difference. Either way, a ring means attachment. "Still, he won't mind?"

She shrugs. "No. He'd worry, bless his little dickheaded heart, but he was perfectly aware I can take care of myself. Besides, he's . . . Recently, he . . . fell. He has bigger things to worry about now."

Herc frowns. 'Fell' is a term used primarily by the military and law enforcement. Since he doesn't know of any conflicts the Australian military has entered into—her fiancé had to have been a citizen, for her to be willing to stick around after his death and even coach their son's speech—he assumes law enforcement. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head and smiles wanly. "He knew the choice he was making." The smile fades and she lets her gaze drop to the table. "So did I."

Herc decides immediately that he doesn't want to go there. Therapy, for him or anyone else, is not part of his quasi-retirement. He feels for her, but the girl is on her own if she needs someone to talk to—the best he can do is direct her to a psychologist friend of his. He looks up at Jason, who's the usual bundle of good cheer, and says simply, "It's time to be brave."

She takes the hint with grace and nods, though her voice is touched with bitterness when she says, "There hasn't been a moment when it wasn't."

He wishes he doesn't understand what she means.

* * *

Eating his meals with other people—even strangers, even a mother and child who remind him of what he's lost—makes life easier. In exchange, he takes over keeping her half of the lawn trimmed; there's no fence between them, so it hardly requires effort to cross the imaginary divide and go on mowing. And when he's done, she always has a glass of water or lemonade ready for him. That's a nice bonus. He offers to take out her garbage, too, but she refuses, only to probe pointedly for details on the sort of handyman he is. He becomes her consultant and spokesman even if he can't fix whatever it is.

"I have a natural distrust of people like that," she explains. "Even on top of the learned paranoia. The best I can do is empty out the u-bend in the sinks when they get clogged, but otherwise I don't have the faintest clue as to what I'm looking at, so I'm very aware that someone might be ripping me off. The possibility drives me nuts, even when the bill is reasonable—it just makes me suspicious that the job wasn't done right. If you could handle that it'd make my life a hell of a lot easier."

Herc is willing to do a lot to not have to cook for himself, so he has no complaints about the trade. Plus, it keeps him busy and greatly reduces the number of times he finds himself staring into empty space, missing his wife or son or both.

That arrangement suffices for a while.

Then, one day, the balance shifts.

* * *

Herc is watching television—more like dozing in front of it—when he hears a thump and a shrill, " _What_?!" next door. He mutes the already almost silenced television and listens to a few moments' quiet that are followed by a light pounding of footsteps. When the noise continues, drifting near and far and back again, curiosity gets the best of him. Herc cuts off the television and meanders from his unit to Jazmine's.

When he gets to her door and rings the bell, he hears a frustrated, "Jesus _Christ_!" from inside. After another moment, Jazmine yanks the door open. She has her cellphone against her ear. She's scowling furiously, but when she recognizes him her expression eases. "Oh. Hi." She withdraws, leaving the door as it is, and turns away. "Sorry if I'm bothering you—it won't last long. If it's about anything else, I'm a lit—"

She abruptly switches gears as Herc lets himself inside and closes the door. "Hey, Abigail? _Please_ tell me you can take Jason on short notice. That idiot Mather called again. It's too much to explain in a short time, but I'd be happy to vent later. So can you? It'd only be for a few—" She stops moving and listens. ". . . You're sure?" Her shoulders drop. Disappointment is clear. "No, I understand. I guess I'll just take him along. Maybe Mather will get the message this time. Sorry I bothered you—I hope it goes well." She shuts off the phone and raises it like she's going to throw it, then drops her arm and rushes toward the bedrooms.

Herc waits until she reappears dressed in a stylish gray women's business getup. She's hurrying to pin her hair to the back of her head. And she's apparently forgotten about him, because when she spots him in her periphery she goes pale and draws up sharply as she pivots to face and confront him. Then recognition sets in again and she sighs. "Damn it, I am so sorry. I completely forgot about you."

"No worries," he assures her. "Seems like you're in a hurry."

She groans and goes back to fighting with her hair. "It's one of my clients. I've been trying to nail him down for a meeting for nearly a month, but he keeps putting it off. He just called me five minutes ago and told me he's going on vacation next week and the rest of this week is booked, so if I want a meeting all he has is the next hour." She makes a disgusted noise. "Idiot. _He's_ the one who wants this work done, I can't do it because he won't cooperate, and he acts as though it's _my_ fault! I hate people."

Herc shrugs. "Charge him double."

"I'm already charging him triple," she replies. "It's one of the policies in my contract, to keep the projects moving and the money coming in—if the client doesn't provide at least half of the necessary information in one business week from the date of my request for it, the cost for the overall project goes up. I send a reminder, and after another week it goes up again. The week after that, too. There is no ceiling. I sent him an invoice recently, so I guess he saw it and realized he had to get his act together."

She snorts. "For having a relatively small business he's a typical corporate pinhead, so I guess he figured he could screw off and I'd have to dance to his tune. He—or someone he appointed—must have not read the full contract, though, or he would have known what he was getting himself into. Or he thought I wouldn't have the guts to send him a bill." She shrugs. "Anyway, he signed the contract, so he owes me at least that for services rendered and time wasted. If he doesn't like it then he can end the arrangement and I'll send everything I've done so far to whoever he wants me to. I won't be sorry to see him go."

"You can't take Jason?"

"Well, it looks like I have to this time. It's not professional to have a kid with you to start with, but this guy is a committed bachelor. That's not usually a problem, but his reason for it is that he hates kids. Especially the really little kids. But I suppose that's too fucking bad, because at this point he's just refusing to play ball. I have no choice but to take Jason with me to the meeting."

That's when Herc's mouth opens and says, "I can watch him for you."

Jazmine, who has begun digging through a messenger bag by then, stops and looks at him blankly. Her brain catches up. "Oh, no no no," she tells him firmly, and resumes her digging. "Absolutely not. You do more than enough for me already."

He can stop there. _Should_ stop there. He's done the polite thing and offered to do her the favor, so his duty as a member of a cooperative society has been satisfied. The fact that she's rejected it isn't his problem. His mouth, however, doesn't agree with that assessment. "A child isn't—"

"Mowing my lawn is one thing," she interrupts. "Bringing me my mail is one thing. Fixing my car is one thing. These are things everyone who lives in the modern world needs done at some point. But not everyone chooses to have kids. Kids are different. I will not foist my child on you."

"I had a son," he counters. She stops again and stares down at her bag, obviously noting his use of the past tense. "It's nothing I'm not familiar with."

She continues to stare at her bag for a bit, then closes her eyes and exhales. "Fine," she says at last, quiet and calm. "If you're willing, I can't deny it would be easier to not have to wrangle Jason at this meeting, no matter how much that moron Mather deserves it."

She shuts the bag and slings it over her head to her far shoulder. "Jason's taking his midday nap right now. He should wake up in another half-hour or so. I happened to make lunch early, so it's sitting in the fridge. Feel free to eat mine, if you like. You can take him back to your place if you want a television, just leave me a note so I know where he is. Everything else he needs is in his room—there's a travel bag on the far side of the changing table that has plenty of diapers and snacks and toys packed in it. He currently has no allergies or medical needs that I know of. You already have my mobile number—don't hesitate to call me if anything happens. I will dump this asshole in a heartbeat if necessary."

"I'm sure I'll be fine," he says. In truth, his wife had done most of the caring for Chuck at Jason's current age, but Herc is confident that he can remember what it was like and adapt to Jason's idiosyncrasies. "I know his personality, and I've watched him before while you made supper. The only difference is that this time it'll be a little longer and you'll be a little farther away."

"It'll be half the city."

Herc checks his watch, then says, "If that's the case, you better get moving."

Jazmine's expression conveys her sense of helplessness. She blinks, frowns, then lowers her shoulders and head. ". . . All right. Thank you—you're a lifesaver. I promise I'll compensate you."

He's not worried about that, but to avoid another argument and get her out the door he nods. She goes for the door, pausing only to clasp his shoulders and pull him down to give him a kiss on the cheek. Then she's on her way, heels clicking against the concrete outside. He stays right where he is until he hears her car leave her drive, and only at that point does he move.

His first act is to secure the house. Then he peeks in on Jason. He has never seen Jazmine lay the kid on his stomach in the past, so the boy must have rolled all on his own. His breaths are reassuringly deep, even, and clean. Herc notices one half of a baby-monitoring set and goes cruising for the other, which he finds next to the computer in the office corner of Jazmine's main room. He picks it up, goes to the couch, sets the speaker on the coffee table where it will be near his head, lies down, and closes his eyes.

Jason's complaints—they aren't really crying—awaken him about an hour later. Herc gets up and goes to the boy's room, wondering with a touch of trepidation how the child will react to seeing the neighbor but not also his mother.

"Hey there, kiddo," he greets as he steps into the room, figuring Jason might have a better response if Herc doesn't abruptly lean over the bassinet and startle him. "Your mum had to go out for a bit, so we're going to have a boys' day." He peers into the bed and finds Jason gazing back at him with an expression of surprise. To his relief, however, no tears follow.

Jason lets out a giggle and reaches for him. Herc can't help a smile as he gathers the boy up. He finds the diaper bag and pulls it over his shoulder, then heads out to the kitchen, where he unloads everything. With the bag on the floor and Jason secured in the high chair, Herc pulls the marked lunch containers from the refrigerator and gets Jason started, then eats his own—and Jazmine's—while supervising.

After eating and a wipe-down of face and hands, it's apparently cuddle time. Jason asks, "Mummy?"

"Mummy's gone out for a bit," Herc tells him again as he picks the toddler up. "She'll be back soon."

Jason seems to find this worrying. He looks at the front door for a long time. Then he lays his head down on Herc's shoulder and sucks his thumb. This is the first time Herc has witnessed the behavior, but he immediately kneels and searches through the diaper bag anyway, until he comes up with a pacifier. He offers it to Jason, who readily accepts it as a replacement for his thumb. He still seems somewhat forlorn, but appears content to stay with Herc until he thinks of some way to track his mother down.

Herc walks slowly throughout the unit, his free hand on Jason's back. The activity is eerily familiar, to the point of causing vertigo; he's never done it before, and yet he's sure he has. He determines it to be a strange overlap from Chuck's infancy and settles on the couch before he hurts himself or his charge and utterly fails at proving that Jazmine's trust is well-placed. Jason, for his part, accepts being repositioned to Herc's chest and lies still even when Herc can't get comfortable. The toddler falls asleep, and when Herc is finally snug he does too.

* * *

Herc awakens with a start when Jazmine opens the front door, but he doesn't blame that on her—he's been on a hair trigger ever since boot camp more than two decades ago. He doesn't bother to move until she walks past the couch and says quietly, "I'm back," at which time he raises the hand resting on Jason's back to acknowledge her, but doesn't even attempt to get up. She rustles around in the kitchen then passes by again to set something heavy on a table, and after that she leans over the back of the couch and smiles down at him.

"Oh, aren't you two all buddy-buddy?" Jason hasn't stirred, so she keeps her voice low. "How'd he do?"

"He was grand," Herc assures her. "He asked after you, but he didn't fuss when I said you were away."

She smiles slightly. "He's pretty good about that. He still has some trouble with Abigail, but I think that's because I leave him at her house and he feels a bit abandoned. When I could leave him here with his father, though, I was told he was perfect. I'd hoped that even if he wasn't sure about you he'd still feel secure here."

"He seemed happy to see me when he woke up."

Her smile grows. "Did he? That's good. His father and I . . . Well, we didn't go to the trouble of socializing him as an infant, so now I have to make up for that. Want me to take him?"

"Only if you must," he replies. Jason's little weight on his chest is achingly familiar; Herc has never really considered himself good father material, especially after he managed to fail Chuck over and over, but it seems there are nevertheless parts of him that remember and miss having a child so young. Perhaps it's simply that a child this small clearly needs help and protection, and such needs conveniently provide someone like Herc—who has nothing left—with a purpose.

"Well," she says, "I won't lie—I cheated a bit. It's later than you think if you haven't checked the time yet. Even if you both slept through it, I owe you for your patience. If you have the time to continue looking after him for me, I'll make you something special for supper."

"It's a deal," he tells her.

After repositioning, he goes back to sleep. Jazmine awakens him later with a gentle touch and soft words, and he finally lets her have her son back. What he can smell from the kitchen helps him part with a child he sees every day to begin with.

She's cooked him a steak.

"You planned this," he accuses her as he cuts a chunk of the meat free and sticks it in his mouth.

"I planned steak for supper, yes," she admits. "Being able to watch Jason for me on such short notice . . . I don't think you appreciate how incredibly helpful that was."

"It's expensive." She bought _tenderloin_.

She scowls. "These are the first steaks I've bought since I came to Australia. Shut up and eat."

Herc wishes for the strength of will to resist the lure of the steak.

He fails.

Herc glances up at Jason. Jazmine has taken a fork and shredded samples she cut from his steak and hers—which he approves of, seeing as Jason's stomach is too small for a whole steak and the boy would just make a mess with it anyway—and the toddler is very interested in what is clearly a new food. Within a few seconds it's clear that Jason has carnivorous tendencies.

"Jesus," Herc says, watching the boy gobble the shreds of filet.

Jazmine smiles and props her chin on her hand. "He's his daddy's boy. And mine," she concedes. "If I ate nothing but rabbit food I'd starve to death in short order."

"Hear hear," Herc murmurs. He appreciates the theories behind a meat-excluding diet, but at the same time doesn't see what difference it really makes. Being a vegetarian didn't keep his wife or any of the animals she didn't eat from dying prematurely and under horrible circumstances.

As far as Herc is concerned, the steak makes the meal. He savors each bite, and by the time he's done he feels as though he's spent an hour on the whole six-ounce cut. A glance at his watch says it hasn't quite been that long, but it's damn close. He sits back and sighs, satisfied, only to be surprised by a belch. "Sorry."

"That's what I like to hear," Jazmine says, sounding entirely unoffended. She's been savoring her steak too, apparently, because she still has a few chunks on her plate.

"That was the best steak I've had in a long time," he tells her. "I've had sirloin occasionally in the past few years, but it's usually dry."

"And sirloin isn't tenderloin," she adds. "Different cut. Not as . . . well, tender."

He nods.

Herc could leave, but he prefers to sit tight and wait until Jazmine and Jason are finished eating. It offers an illusion of the past—of a time when he felt it necessary to stay at the table because his wife or son or both had been chattering instead of eating.

When Jazmine determines that Jason is done, she wipes him down. "Well, time for a bath and then time for bed— Oh." She stops just before picking the boy up and pulls from the back pocket of her jeans something that she offers to Herc, who's getting to his feet. "Here. For your trouble."

It's a one hundred-dollar bill.

Herc tucks his hands into his pockets. "I appreciate the sentiment, but you don't have to."

"But I want to!"

He frowns. "I don't want your bloody money, woman. I have enough of my own."

"I don't want to take advantage of you!"

"If I ever think I'm being taken advantage of"—which would be never, because he's one step from being a retiree with nothing to do on a given day and certainly has the time and patience to tolerate the imposition of a quiet young woman and her well-behaved son—"I'll damn well let you know."

She growls, grabs the collar of his shirt, folds the bill over it, then lets go. She turns away and stomps off to see to Jason. Once she's out of sight, Herc spots her messenger bag lying on the computer desk and snoops through it until he finds her wallet, which couldn't have been anywhere else considering the clothes she'd been wearing for her meeting. He tucks the hundred carefully inside the wallet and does his best to make the bag look as though he hasn't touched it.

"I'm using the back door!" he announces, injecting exasperation into his voice. Which isn't too hard, really, since he's annoyed by her insistence on paying him when he told her not to.

"Okay!" she answers, clearly already absorbed with looking after her child.

Her back door has a lock in the lever as well as an aftermarket deadbolt, the latter doubtless installed as a precaution against old man Peter. There's nothing he can do about that one, but he locks the former on his way out and tests it once he's pulled the door shut. Certain the door is as secure as it can be until Jazmine flips the deadbolt, Herc steps down into the shared yard to get around the dividing privacy wall between the two porches. As he steps onto his own porch, he wonders if Jazmine would be against knocking out that wall. It would offer them a measure of convenience, particularly in adverse weather.

He resolves to ask in the morning and walks into his dark home. It's still unpleasant and lonely, but a bit less so than before. The realization brings a lightness to his heart that causes him to smile.

* * *

 **To Be Continued in . . .** **Chapter 2** **– The Son's Choice**

Herc stares at the two images, baffled and—if he's being honest with himself—a bit hurt.

"They're his prints, mate," Derrek tells him, apologetic. "Almost one hundred percent certain. And if you look at the whole . . ." He clicks around until the entire sheet of notepad paper is visible. Small computer-generated ovals indicate the locations of the fingerprints. "You can see that he was holding the paper down with his left hand while he was writing. It wasn't just something that was handed to him and then taken back."

"He was twenty-one at the time," Darryl adds gently, sympathetic. "Evelyn sent me a copy of the video she showed you, and the discussion of Hong Kong dates the image more reliably than the video stamp ever could. Since he was a legal adult and in good mental and physical health, you have no official recourse."

* * *

 **Answers To Questions You Didn't Even Know You Wanted To Ask:**

For flavor, I do use a little Australian slang, but surrounding text should provide context for non-Australians. That said, if any Australians who happen to read this fic see that I've misused the slang, then by all means correct me.

Also, I don't usually write in the present tense, so there may be errors there as well. Just a heads up for everyone.

—

 _Unless he goes back to the RAAF, he has no job prospects._

RAAF = Royal Australian Air Force. Not to be confused with the UK's Royal Air Force (RAF). For those who maybe didn't pay attention in world history class—or just forgot because it has zero impact on your life—here's your reminder that Australia is a constitutional monarchy; to oversimplify the matter, Australia is a sovereign nation largely independent of the UK, but still recognizes the royal family as figureheads.

—

If you find this fic to be somewhat fine, please take the time to drop me a line!

~RN (LS)


	2. The Son's Choice

**Word Count:** 8,787 ( **Total:** 17,739)

 **Rating:** T for language and some light sexual situations (all clothing stays on, but those who are squeamish about age gaps beware)

 **Date Submitted:** 1/12/18

* * *

 **Chapter 2** **– The Son's Choice**

* * *

She's sitting on her side of the back porch, sipping at a lemonade as she watches Jason roll about on the ground. Previously, Herc was puzzled by her resistance to treating the yard with pesticides and fertilizer to cultivate a nicer-looking yard and understood when she had said she did not want it to make Jason sick, but it makes far more sense to actually _see_ how the boy might get sick in the first place. Herc watches him pluck up a blade of grass and stick it in his mouth, chew it, then spit it out.

Herc crosses to Jazmine's porch and settles in the cushioned wicker chair on the near side of her matching wicker table. Jason makes an unintelligible cheeping noise and waves at him. He returns the wave and says to the toddler's mother, "Germs."

She grunts softly as she drinks a little more, but doesn't take her eyes from Jason. As she sets her glass on the table on a ceramic coaster she says, "Won't do him any harm at all. The yard's fenced, so the only things getting in here are birds and the occasional squirrel. Earthworms. My brothers and I ate more grass from an unfenced yard and turned out just fine. Besides, I refuse to turn him into one of those kids who's allergic to everything because I wanted to 'protect' him."

Herc looks at her, at her glass, then at her again. "No wine?" He has learned that her mother was French and instilled a number of French mannerisms in her; she almost always has wine in the evening, with supper or right after or both, and if she doesn't have wine she doesn't have anything else alcoholic either.

Jazmine sighs long and slow, and seems to shrink a bit. "When I was pregnant with Jason, his father asked me to avoid anything with alcohol. I didn't want to—I'm not an alcoholic and don't drink socially outside the house, plus my mother consumed wine responsibly throughout her pregnancies with my brothers and me and none of us were affected negatively by it, so I didn't see a danger—but he was very sincere. It was one of the few things that he didn't shout about when I resisted. I was often a pushover where he was concerned, so I caved."

Herc smirks. It sounds like love to him.

Then it occurs to him exactly what she's saying. He refocuses on her and lets his gaze drift down her body. Through the glass top of the wicker table he can see her left hand resting very, very low on her abdomen. He knows what that means. "You're pregnant?"

She nods.

Herc withholds the urge to chide her for allowing herself to get pregnant and take on extra financial burden when she's already living in such austerity, intentional or not. Instead, he says, "I didn't know you were dating."

Her brows draw in slightly. "I'm not."

For a flash of an instant Herc feels panic—that she's been raped—but he doubts she would be so quietly accepting of such a thing. Nor would there have been reason to mention her boyfriend or fiancé or whatever he was. If she's only just learned of her pregnancy, which is how it appears, then the conception must have occurred not long before he was killed. That couldn't have been more than two or three months ago. The shock of that realization is bad for Herc, so it has to be a thousand times as bad for Jazmine. "Should I go?"

She bites her lip and shakes her head. So softly that it's almost a whisper, she says, "Please stay. You don't have to say anything—I just need to know someone is here."

It makes Herc very uncomfortable, because if she breaks down he doesn't know what he's going to do, but he does stay with her.

It works out in the end, both of them more comfortable watching Jason than speaking of anything at all.

That's the last time she mentions her pregnancy. Herc brings it up a time or two over the next few weeks, courteously asking after the baby, but her responses are concise and definitive. He gets the message that she doesn't wish to discuss that particular topic and lets it go.

* * *

" _What_?" Herc says, clipping the last letter in his disbelief and irritation.

"I know," Darryl Westin, his attorney, replies. Darryl is an old, old friend of Herc's, and when he was starting his own law office Herc was one of his first clients. Herc feels that they're relatively close, seeing as Darryl guided him through all the legal obligations associated with the deaths of his wife and son, which had been plenty traumatic even without every government in creation wanting to be paid for that particular offense to their revenue stream. "I have no idea. Chuck never said a thing to me, and if he had I would've at least drawn up something for him to sign so that you and I would be prepared for it.

"But I saw the original document," he adds. "It's Chuck's hand or I'm blind."

Herc trusts Darryl, but . . . "I know his hand better. Do you have it?"

"No, the other party's attorney does."

"Who is it? Where can I find him?"

Darryl picks up a pen, scribbles something on a nearby notepad, then rips the paper off and folds it in half. He looks at Herc. "I know this woman, Herc. She was a year ahead of me. Worked her arse off. She's firm—at times comes across as a real cunt—but she's honest. If this is a forgery, she's been snowed too. Don't be rough with her. For my sake, if not hers."

Herc promises, even though he isn't sure he can keep it.

Darryl hands him the paper and reaches for the desk phone. "I'll call ahead—"

"No, don't. I don't want her knowing my name yet."

"In that case I _have_ to call, or you'll never get in the door. Her secretary is even tougher than she is."

Herc acquiesces and studies the information on the notepaper. The address is for someplace in Ryde. When his friend finishes the call, he asks, "Herbert Hoover?"

Darryl throws his hands into the air. "All right, it wasn't my most genius moment, I admit, but I had to give her a name or she wouldn't've agreed to fit you in. Go on—she'll see you as soon as you get in, as long as you're there in the next two hours."

Herc gets there within two hours, and a rather young woman dressed so sharply she could cut canvas shows him—with a scowl of suspicion—to her employer's office. She knocks on the door twice and then enters. "Mister _Hoover_ , Miss Callaghan," she says as she leads Herc into the room, placing an unnecessary and disdainful emphasis on his assumed name.

Miss Callaghan looks up from something on her desk and smiles. "Thank you, Aya. I'm sure you know the information I need."

"Yes ma'am." Aya strides out of the room, her stilettos stabbing at the floor. She closes the door.

Miss Callaghan is still smiling, but at Herc now. He can't tell whether or not she recognizes him, but either way she greets him with, "Hello, Mister Hoover. Please, have a seat." She gestures at the two armchairs in front of her spacious desk. "Water? Coffee?"

He sits down and finds himself saying, "Coffee's fine, thanks. Black," even though he meant to stay furious at any and all persons involved in this theft.

Miss Callaghan fixes him a fresh cup from a small machine in the corner of the room. Herc can tell by the smell of it that it's high-end, which he rather expects in a law office. She brings it to him in a Styrofoam cup, along with a few napkins for extra insulation, and says demurely, "It's hot, of course."

Once the cup has switched hands, she says as she returns to the other side of the desk, "I know Darryl runs a somewhat casual office, and I'm the same. Feel free to address me as Evelyn; everyone does, except for Aya—she's an old soul and has some views I believe are outdated, but it pleases her and does me no harm, so I let her have her way about it."

As she sits down, Aya knocks twice on the door and enters with a file folder in hand. She crosses the room and sets the folder on the desk. Evelyn barely gets out, "Thank you, Aya," before she's turning away and clicking off to the door again.

When it's closed, Evelyn opens the folder and pulls out a sheet of paper. She offers it to Herc. "I imagine this is what you want to see."

Puzzled, he accepts it. Sure enough, it seems Evelyn and Aya both recognize him, because the paper is the document bearing Chuck's signature. And it's only the last page of something more, but Herc can tell from what he can see that it has to do with money. He scrutinizes the signature, but if it's a forgery it's the best damned forgery he's ever encountered. He looks at Evelyn. "How . . .?"

"Retired or not, no serviceman is going to let something unacceptable go unaddressed. I knew that as soon as I spoke to Darryl he'd have to alert you, and that if you didn't know you would challenge it; my client warned me that your son wasn't very proactive about keeping you informed." Evelyn hands him an envelope. "And it seems my client was correct. This note was placed in my custody—at my request, as a precaution—before his reassignment to Hong Kong."

The envelope has 'Dad' written on the front in Chuck's hand and is sealed with standard desk tape. Herc starts to open it, then realizes what he's holding. He scrutinizes the paper and tape, but it doesn't look like either has been tampered with. "Who touched this?"

Evelyn tilts her head. "Only Chuck and myself. And Aya, when she filed it. My client wasn't with him that day. And now you. No one else I'm aware of. Why?"

"I want this dusted for prints."

"Oh," she says. She doesn't seem particularly surprised. "In that case, Aya only ever touched the envelope. My prints would be on the paper inside because my notepad was used. The remaining prints on it would, to the best of my knowledge, be your son's."

"Then that'll make things easy."

"Agreed. I can call a friend—"

" _I'll_ call a friend," Herc snaps.

Evelyn raises one eyebrow. "Very well, but you'll have it collected right here, in my office. I can't permit anyone who isn't law enforcement, even family of the deceased, to walk out of here with an item entrusted to me." She does something on her computer while he calls Derrek, then says, "While we wait, perhaps you'd like to watch this video." She turns the monitor toward him.

Herc watches the first few seconds of what he identifies as a recording from a security camera. It's of the office he's currently sitting in. He turns in his seat to find the camera, and though it's camouflaged the effort wasn't great, so he does see it. He looks at the monitor again.

He sees Aya walk into view, and though it's mostly her back to the camera she's clearly exasperated by the way Chuck—or someone very similar—veers around her and drops into the same armchair Herc is sitting in.

"Thank you, Aya," video-Evelyn says. Aya leaves, and Evelyn says to Chuck, "What can I help you with this afternoon, Chuck?"

"I've been reassigned," Chuck says. Herc's heart trembles, because it certainly sounds like his son. "I'm going to Hong Kong. There's a— Well, I can't discuss it. Classified."

"I understand," Evelyn assures him, her voice warm. She seems to be fond of him in a way Herc doesn't encounter in anyone who hasn't spent extended periods of time with him or with someone who truly knows him and has explained his personality. "Like doctors, attorneys are required to keep their clients' information confidential."

Chuck nods, anxious. "I'll just say there's a chance I . . . I might not make it back. I need to make sure they'll be all right."

"All right." Evelyn begins to shuffle papers on her desk. "What do you have in mind? Or is that what you need help with?"

Chuck shakes his head. "I don't have anything to give them—I don't own anything—except money. And even that is . . ." He sighs and moves on. "I need a way to give them as much as possible if something happens to me. You know, avoid taxes and the like."

Evelyn nods. "That's a standard request. I can definitely help you."

Chuck's shoulders slump slightly and his head drops a bit. "Thank God . . ."

She smiles. "Goodness, even if I couldn't have helped directly I could've at least referred you and put in a good word. You worry too much."

"There aren't too many people I trust to not tell the whole planet."

Evelyn concedes the point with, "Yes, that is a concern, unfortunately."

Herc watches as Evelyn asks him questions and works at her computer, prints something up, then lays out some paperwork for him to read and patiently explains everything Chuck questions. If he doesn't understand, she rewords herself until he does. When he gets to the end, Chuck doesn't hesitate to put pen to paper, and Herc feels no anxiety about it. He may disagree, but he doesn't feel that Chuck didn't know what was being signed.

"Now that you've signed away your soul," Evelyn says as she collects the papers, "I feel it necessary to ask if you've mentioned this to your father yet."

"No," Chuck admits. Evelyn gives him a look, and he says, "I will! I swear! It's just too busy right now, with all the prep we're doing . . ."

"You make a lot of excuses, Chuck. What if something happens to you and he expects to have access to your money, only to discover that it's vanished? He won't be happy."

"That's why I'll tell him once we're in Hong Kong," Chuck vows. He then sighs. "Not that . . . I mean, if I don't make it back then he won't either. We're copilots. It's rare that only one dies."

Herc feels a stab in his heart. Rare, yes, but it happened, and in the end they'd joined that horrible club.

Evelyn stares at him, then hands him a notepad and pen and fishes an envelope from a desk drawer. "Here. Do me a favor and write him a note."

Chuck balks. "What? What the hell would I say?"

"Just tell him that you really did choose to give your money to people he's never met before. Because he isn't going to meet them now, is he?"

Chuck hunches his shoulders. "No . . ."

"So _write_."

Obediently, Chuck grabs the notepad and pen and composes a short letter. When he's done he tears it from the pad, folds it, and tucks it into the envelope Evelyn hands him. He tapes the envelope closed securely and hands it back to her.

"Thank you." Evelyn sets it aside.

"So is that it?" Chuck asks. "Just like that?"

"Just like that, yes," she replies. "If there was more time I'd have you do more, but you've taken care of the most vital part. What they'll lose to taxes won't be a third as much as they would've lost without it."

Chuck hesitates, then nods. "All right. Good."

Evelyn looks at him for a moment. "You're a good man, Chuck," she says. "There are men twice your age who could stand to at least attempt to be as mature as you're being right now."

Chuck shakes his head. "I just want them to be safe."

"I'll do everything I can, Chuck. I promise."

Chuck nods stiffly, thanks her, and rises from the armchair to leave. He turns toward the camera to face the door, and the high-definition video removes all but the tiniest smidgen of Herc's doubt.

Chuck leaves the room, and the video ends. Evelyn turns the monitor back toward herself. "I'd show you a few others, but my client is in all of those and I don't have permission to reveal that person's identity to anyone."

Herc finishes the coffee while he waits for Derrek, but barely tastes it.

When Derrek arrives, Aya is very angry because no one informed her that the police would be showing up. Evelyn steps from her office to intervene and apologizes to her secretary with such formality that Herc questions her sincerity. Aya, however, accepts it. Evelyn then grills Derrek for his name and badge number before inviting him in. She lets Herc explain the situation, then observes with vague displeasure as Derrek dons nitrile gloves and eases the letter into an evidence bag.

"I expect that back," she says. "In one piece. Unmarred."

"It'll be fine," Derrek assures her. "I'll take personal responsibility for it."

Once Derrek leaves, Herc has no further business there. He can't protest or concede until he gets that last bit of evidence that proves Chuck had done what Darryl and Evelyn assert he had. He thanks Evelyn for her time and sees himself out.

* * *

Herc stares at the two images, baffled and—if he's being honest with himself—a bit hurt.

"They're his prints, mate," Derrek tells him, apologetic. "Almost one hundred percent certain. And if you look at the whole . . ." He clicks around until the entire sheet of notepad paper is visible. Small computer-generated ovals indicate the locations of the fingerprints. "You can see that he was holding the paper down with his left hand while he was writing. It wasn't just something that was handed to him and then taken back."

"He was twenty-one at the time," Darryl adds gently, sympathetic. "Evelyn sent me a copy of the video she showed you, and the discussion of Hong Kong dates the image more reliably than the video stamp ever could. Since he was a legal adult and in good mental and physical health, you have no official recourse."

Herc's heart sinks. ". . . All right . . . thanks."

He doesn't understand.

It doesn't particularly bother him that he's lost so much of Chuck's money to a total stranger—he knows how to make money, if he needs it—it's that Chuck never once hinted at whom he had found so desperately in need of it. Herc wonders if he had ever seen the person— _people_ —in the drift but failed to grasp their significance, and if Chuck's uncharacteristic silence regarding them meant that he had been waiting for Herc to say something for lack of a good way to approach the topic. But Herc could not think of anyone Chuck, who had generally been at home during his leaves, might have spent so little time with and yet found so deserving of his money; few relationships could be worth money as much as time.

"I can try to find out who the money's going to," Darryl offers, though he doesn't sound sure.

Herc shakes his head. It doesn't matter. It really doesn't. Not even what's in the note. Chuck was an adult, therefore it's none of Herc's business.

"I'll return the note later today," Derrek promises. "You go home and take it easy, Herc."

Not something he usually hears from his friends. "Do I look that bad?"

Both men seem pained by the question. "Mate," Darryl tells him, with the sort of honesty only a true friend would feel confident offering, "you look as though the Devil's come and danced on your grave."

Derrek nods his agreement.

Herc isn't surprised. He hasn't been sleeping well. He nods and turns to leave Darryl's office, and the only thought on his mind is to curl up somewhere safe until this jolt to his head and heart fades away.

* * *

"Herc? Jesus, you look awful. What's wrong?"

Herc looks at her blankly, then twists in place to look back at his truck.

It's in his drive, exactly where he thought he had parked it.

He blinks and looks again at Jazmine. "Sorry, I didn't mean to come here and bother you."

"I don't doubt that," she says, "but apparently you need to. Come on." She steps back and opens the door wider, and gestures him in with a jerk of her head. "Come in. Have a seat."

He doesn't want to—doesn't want to take up the time of a young working mother and burden her with all the horrors of being isolated and adrift in a sea of intact families—but his feet move him into her half of the duplex. When he hears the door latch closed and the lock snap into place, he suddenly feels exhaustion that's accompanied by a sense of profound relief.

 _Safe._

Jazmine steps around him, gives him a once-over, and says, "I know that look. Off to bed with you."

Herc heads for the couch.

She grabs him and steers him toward the end of the unit. "Nope—couch sucks. _Bed_."

She guides him to a bedroom furnished with a full-size bed. There are probably other things there, but Herc has eyes for the bed alone. He knows he shouldn't—he should resist or at least make a verbal protest—but his mouth fails to work even as one side of his brain makes every logical excuse as to why he shouldn't lie down on any bed in her home. The other side is all for it, because there's apparently no reason to be concerned. Herc is certainly unable to think of anything, as he doesn't find her very threatening.

"Lie down," she tells him. " _Rest_."

He's so tired he can't be bothered to fight with her. He settles onto the bed with a groan and tension leaves his body. He normally prefers firmer mattresses, but hers is softer and it cradles him in a way he finds comforting at that moment. He drapes the back of one wrist over his eyes to block out the light and wishes he had the energy to tell her she doesn't need to take his boots off—or that he would do it if she, understandably, doesn't want filth on her bed. Thanks to panic, he almost does find the energy to stop her from unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, but she does it with clinical efficiency and then moves off so quickly that he never manages to do more than think about sitting up. She doesn't actually attempt to remove his jeans, and while he suspects that she would've been fine with _him_ doing so he just can't bear to go that far. It's too weird.

Her windows have sheer curtains, but also heavier ones to either side. She pulls the latter over the room's two windows, and Herc is relieved to discover that they're blackout curtains. The room is significantly darker now, the remaining light easier to ignore. He puts his arm down on the bed beside him and looks for her. She comes back with a thin comforter in hand, unfolds it, and lays it over him.

"There," she says as she smooths the fabric across his shoulders and chest, one step from tucking him in. Her voice is gentle. "Now go to sleep. I'll have something ready for you to eat when you wake up."

She walks out of the room and pulls the door closed until only a sliver of light shines through. Herc closes his eyes and feels himself relax even more.

 _Safe._

It turns out to be the best sleep he's had in years.

* * *

"Do you often invite people to sleep in your bed and then feed them?" Herc asks as he eats a fine dish of beef stroganoff. He awakened from a two-hour nap just half an hour ago, and he feels amazing.

"Absolutely not," Jazmine says. "Too paranoid."

"Then why?"

She sighs. "My fiancé would show up at the door looking like you did. He couldn't stay awake once he was seated, so I learned to put him to bed right away. And when he woke up he was always ravenous, so I learned to prepare some sort of meal while he slept so I didn't have to listen to him whine while he was awake."

"Very domestic of you."

She rolls her eyes. "I know. Never thought I'd see the day. But he was always grateful, or else I would've told him to take care of himself. I'm no house slave."

Jason babbles at the room while he mashes his stroganoff in his hands, and Herc can't help smiling at him. The kid still has the same volume-control issue as every other child Herc's ever met.

Jazmine looks at her son and says, "I don't know why I even bother to put a bib on him. It doesn't help."

Jason has certainly managed to get the food not only on his bib but all around its edges. Herc chuckles and points out, "It reduces stains."

She smiles at him. "I never would've imagined you worried about something like that."

"I didn't, but my wife did. Our son was very proud of his messes."

Jazmine's eyes roll back toward Jason, who cackles victoriously before cramming a fistful of noodles in his mouth. The sauce from the stroganoff is almost in his eyes. "That sounds eerily familiar. Must be a boy thing."

Herc's mobile rings, much to his embarrassment. He should have turned it off. "Sorry."

Jazmine blinks. "Oh my God. People call you?"

He realizes he's never received a call in her presence before and snorts. "From time to time." He retrieves his phone and checks it. Raleigh. "'Scuse me. Gotta take this."

She waves a dismissive hand. Herc hasn't offered much detail, but he's shared with her that he occupies a position of influence in a military structure. "It's fine if you don't want me overhearing anything, but don't leave just to be polite. I'm hardly a stickler for that sort of thing."

While he does assume it's a work call, Herc doubts it's sensitive; Raleigh will probably just ask him to find a computer, and they'll videochat that way.

A computer Herc doesn't have, because before his phone had been enough, or he borrowed Chuck's laptop. The laptop he emptied wholesale into his part of the PPDC's cloud, formatted, and gifted to a friend's preteen for schoolwork. He sighs and answers the call. "'Lo, mate."

"Good evening, sir," Raleigh says. One day, Herc will determine that it's all right to ask why Raleigh, upon agreeing to jockey again, had consistently shown more respect to Herc than Stacker. Herc assumes that it's some combination of Yancy and the Knifehead fiasco plus the team drop in Manila—that's the most logical possibility—but has so far decided it better to not ask for confirmation. "How've you been?"

Herc has always hated that question, especially after his wife's death and now after Chuck's. He hates it because _obviously_ he's not all right when his entire family has died practically in front of him, when he could have done something if he'd just been faster or more cautious, but he doesn't snap at Raleigh because the tone of the younger man's voice indicates the question is a courtesy rather than a pitying probe meant to satisfy the asker's sense of guilt; the kid knows what it's like to just not want to talk about something and isn't going to offer idiotic platitudes. So he answers honestly. "Not too bad. Better than I was six hours ago."

"Good!" Raleigh tells him with far, far too much cheer. "You're going to need it."

Herc groans. "What happened?"

Raleigh briefs him on the situation, then asks the dreaded question. "Can you get to a computer?"

". . . I don't have one at the moment."

Raleigh laughs. "C'mon, you're young enough to be comfortable with computers!"

"My phone is enough, usually." Herc could do anything on his phone that he had once done on a computer, so he had streamlined his technology options.

"Screen's too small," Raleigh counters. "You'll need something bigger."

Naturally. "I don't have one. It'll have to wait."

"At the risk of seeming like an eavesdropper," Jazmine puts in, "you're welcome to borrow mine."

"Thanks," Herc says, "but I can't. It's work—classified."

She shrugs. "You can always track what you did and erase it."

"Who are you talking to?" Raleigh asks.

"My neighbor," Herc replies. "I break into her home three times a day and she feeds me for my effort." He glances over at Jazmine and finds her smiling.

"Lucky," comes the response. "My roommate always tells me it's my turn to cook. Every night."

Herc grins. He knows damn well that's because Raleigh is a better cook than Mako, and enjoys it besides. Mako can cook but prefers to work on tech even while off duty, so they have an arrangement similar to the one Herc has with Jazmine; Mako repairs the variety of technology Raleigh manages to break—and any other tech anyone brings or she finds, which she either fixes for a fee or sells afterward—and Raleigh pays his way by cooking for her and being a general housekeeper. He's surprisingly good at and content with the arrangement, and though Tendo teases him Herc lets it be. That Raleigh has made peace with the past gives Herc hope.

"Use my computer," Jazmine says as she gets up and reaches for Jason. "Jason needs a bath anyway. If you do anything top secret, just clean up after yourself, or when you're done you can let me know and I'll delete it while you look over my shoulder and tell me what has to go."

Herc really shouldn't put off work. And he believes it's safe to trust Jazmine—at least enough to watch her erase his footsteps. He doesn't want to be the one to destroy any parts of _her_ work, after all; not when it's her entire livelihood. "Thanks."

"Leave the dishes—I'll get around to them one day."

Jazmine vanishes down the short hallway with her son in her arms. Herc circles the peninsula and crosses the sitting room to the corner in which her computer sits. He sets up a video chat with Raleigh, and they get down to business. Herc completely loses track of time and location, so he's startled when he hears Jazmine's raised voice.

"Is it okay if I grab Jason's cup from the kitchen?"

Raleigh chuckles at him. Herc scowls in response, though he keeps it out of his voice when he says, "It's not that classified. Just keep your eyes forward."

Herc sees Raleigh's expression change and his head tilt, but it isn't until Jazmine passes behind him that the younger man's eyes widen.

" _Zhasmeen_!" the blond cries, injecting some sort of non-American accent into his voice.

Herc blinks. In the inset frame that shows him himself, he sees Jazmine freeze in the background. She's still for a moment, then pivots toward the computer.

"Raleigh?" she wonders, in a way that suggests she's surprised to see him, though in more of a _why are you here?_ fashion.

Herc doesn't understand how they didn't recognize each other's voice earlier.

Raleigh, at least, can't be more excited. He proceeds to chatter in what Herc eventually identifies as French, while Jazmine comes to the desk and leans her weight onto one hand. Raleigh stops as abruptly as he started and stares, then demands in English, "Are you _pregnant_?"

Herc looks at Jazmine. He hasn't really been paying much attention since she made it clear she didn't want to discuss her baby, but he realizes she _is_ beginning to show. There's just a small curve in her abdomen, but the fact that she hasn't packed on fat anywhere else on her body makes clear what she's been up to, and being bent over only emphasizes things.

" _Yes_ ," she snaps. "Not that it's any of your business."

Raleigh looks from her to Herc, silently accusing.

Herc opens his mouth to explain that he has nothing to do with her condition, but Jazmine leans around him and snarls, " _Back off_ , asshole. Who I fuck is _none of your fucking business_."

"I haven't touched her," Herc puts in reflexively, just to be clear.

"You don't have a right to give a damn about me, you bastard," she adds. "You abandoned me, and that's fucking _fine_ , but _don't_ come back into my life expecting to pick up where you left off."

Raleigh is appalled. "I didn't abandon you."

"I beg to fucking differ."

He grimaces. "Jazmine, language?"

"Sure," is her completely reasonable answer. Her voice hardens. " _Va te faire foutre_."

Raleigh sighs and says to Herc, "I'm sorry. I know it's awkward when this sort of thing happens."

Jazmine makes a disgusted noise and walks away. Raleigh, clearly distressed, scratches his head.

"Wait," Herc says finally, as it occurs to him that he's been left behind. "What am I missing here? How do you know her?"

Raleigh sighs. "She's my sister."

That doesn't sound right. He realizes why. "She said her surname was Lapierre."

Raleigh nods. "Mom's maiden name. She and Dad . . . Well, it's a long story, but suffice it to say Jazmine doesn't want to be associated with him."

Herc isn't going to get involved with another parent-child conflict. He muses instead, "It probably wouldn't help, would it, if I told you that you had a nephew already?"

Raleigh looks completely gobsmacked. "A nephew? _Already_?"

"'Bout yea high," Herc clarifies, and lowers his hand out of Raleigh's sight and behind the desk. "Blond, but not for long, I don't think. I expect it'll darken to a light brown eventually. Chuck did, though obviously there's room for error since they aren't related."

Raleigh is _very_ interested. "Where is he?"

"In bed, I imagine. She just gave him a bath, and in the past this was about the time."

"Oh." Raleigh looks at some point below his HUD and frowns slightly. "So she's married?"

"No. They were engaged, but he's gone."

Raleigh bristles. "He _left_ her?"

He must have spoken too loudly, because Jazmine snaps from the kitchen, "Stop talking about me!"

Herc keeps his voice low after that. "I don't know the details, but it seems he was in law enforcement or the like. And things . . . went bad."

"Oh." Raleigh droops slightly. "Damn. She doesn't need that."

"Nobody does," Herc replies.

"No, I mean . . ." Raleigh sighs. "She gets pretty strongly attached. When someone she's close to doesn't say goodbye in the right way, she takes it really hard. She doesn't get sad—she gets angry."

Herc frowns slightly. "She doesn't seem to be angry."

"Her anger is calm," Raleigh explains. "Quiet. I don't know whether she's just naturally like that or if it's that thing women do because it's not ladylike to show the ugly emotions. Our mother didn't believe in withholding feelings, but she did believe that there was a time and place, and that wouldn't be in front of you. Our father wasn't exactly more traditional, but the things he taught us included firm self-control. He was particularly hard on Jazmine, so those lessons are really embedded in her."

Herc glances over his shoulder. "She hasn't acted unbalanced."

"She isn't," Raleigh assures him. "That's what makes her dangerous."

One of Herc's eyebrows lifts. "'Dangerous' isn't a word I've found reason to associate with her."

"That's the point," is the response. "Just don't do anything to make her think you mean her or her kid any harm and you'll be fine."

"Are you _trying_ to scare me?"

"I'm trying to _warn_ you, sir. You seem to think she's harmless just because she hasn't flipped out on you over anything. I'm telling you she isn't, because failing to know that could put you in a bad place."

" _Mister Dillon was fine, except for the fact that he grew senile and kept trying to come into my home . . . then he started threatening to beat Jason if I wouldn't. I drew the line there . . . I couldn't risk him hurting Jason. Because if he had been able to, I would have killed him."_

In hindsight, the way she talked about her first neighbor suggested the clinical assessment of an enemy as opposed to a simple, emotional recital of incidences. There's certainly something not right about that as far as the reaction of a normal person.

"I'll keep that in mind," Herc says.

Jazmine passes back through the sitting room without looking at or addressing Raleigh; he makes no effort of his own to reach out to her either. Herc decides that he should wait to ask about that as well and turns his attention back to the reason for Raleigh's call.

They don't achieve much, leaving Herc little choice but to wrap up with plans to get to it the next day. He's about to close down the chat window when Jazmine reappears, heading again for the kitchen. Raleigh squeezes in a quick, "Night, Mimi."

"Kiss kiss," she replies, sounding entirely uninterested. She doesn't pause or look over.

Raleigh doesn't seem bothered. Does, in fact, seem pleased that she answered him at all. He wishes Herc a good night and closes off his end of the chat.

"Can you delete everything or do you want to watch me?" Jazmine calls.

"I don't think there's anything that needs to be deleted," Herc says, "but I suppose it's a good precaution. I don't want to risk ruining your work, though."

"Okay. One second . . ."

Jazmine finishes rinsing something and then steps into the sitting room. Herc vacates the chair for her, and she goes places Herc—who considers himself at least average as far as computer knowledge—would never dare to go without expert accompaniment.

"Okay, here's your session," she says, and points at some file names on the screen. "We can tell by the time stamp. Do you concur?"

"I do. But the files seem a little small."

"They're so small because they're mainly indicating that something happened at that particular time," she explains. "They aren't saying exactly what happened, obviously, but they would contain traceable information like chat duration and the locations of both parties." Jazmine hums a bit as she works. She deletes the files from the temporary folder, deletes them from the recycle bin on her desktop, and then runs some sort of deep scan. It comes up clean but for a few fragments, which Jazmine again deletes twice. Another scan shows an all-clear.

"Now I won't lie—there are probably still shreds of information in there," she warns as she spins the chair to face him. "But wherever they are, they should be digital gobbledygook. This is as far as my knowledge extends, so I can say with confidence that I couldn't possibly make anything of whatever's left. And considering the client information I have to have to work and therefore am obligated to safeguard, I like to think I have enough in the way of malware protection to defend those shreds until they become obsolete."

Herc shrugs. "Like I said, I doubt there was anything sensitive in there. Not sensitive as of now, at least. But I thank you—it does ease my mind." He glances at the clock on her computer. "Well, I don't want to wake the sprog, so I better be on my way. Unless you need something . . .?"

She smiles and gets to her feet. "Nope. I'm good, thank you."

They meander to the back door. Anymore, Herc rarely uses the front door to get to her half of the duplex; he's usually there to eat and knows Jazmine's expecting him, so he doesn't hesitate to be casual, and if she needs to discuss anything she saves it until then so neither of them has to make extra trips. It's also safer in general, because with the back yard surrounded by a tall privacy fence it's unlikely someone will climb over it to break in, so they're able to leave their back doors unlocked with relative confidence during the day.

"How are you feeling now?" she asks out of the blue.

"Oï?"

"You were so exhausted earlier. I don't suppose it's anything I can help with?"

He shakes his head. "Thanks, but I don't think so." He isn't going to explain, at first, but then feels an urge to tell just one person, and she's a convenient audience. "My son . . ." He has to pause there, sorrowful and guilty all over again. He should have been there. He should have died too. "My son did something I don't agree with, which is probably why he never told me he'd done it. I've known about it for a week or so, but I just got official confirmation of it today. It's not . . ." He frowns. "It's none of my business, really. He was an adult at the time. It was his right. And what I lost isn't going to ruin my life. I just feel . . ."

"Left out," Jazmine murmurs.

He shrugs a shoulder and shakes his head. "Something like that. I don't know if I can explain it any better. But we did . . . know a lot about each other. More than most people know about anyone else. That I never noticed he'd done what he did just makes me wonder what else he might have managed to hide from me."

Jazmine sighs softly. "Jason's father wasn't keen on speaking to his own father either. As far as I know, the man died unaware that he was a grandfather."

Herc grimaces. That's certainly no good. "Kids," he sighs, before he realizes how it might be interpreted.

Fortunately, Jazmine only snorts. "Well, in my case, there was some sort of concern about Granddad being disapproving or guilty or both."

"Why?"

"When Jason was born, his father was nineteen. My fiancé believed _his_ father would stress over that."

Herc hems and haws a little. ". . . That _is_ young. I was twenty-three when my son was born, and I can't be sure I was really ready." He then concedes, "My wife was, though, and she was a year younger than me."

"It depends on the person," Jazmine replies. "I don't know that I was ready myself, and I was four years older than him. But he was ready . . . or that's how it turned out."

Herc blinks. "There's that much of a difference between you?"

"You're surprised?"

"Young men aren't known for their maturity," he points out.

She laughs. "Well, I won't deny that he had his moments when it came to me, but when it involved Jason he grew right up. 'Understood his priorities' is the best way to put it, I imagine."

"So long as you're satisfied," he says. His opinion isn't really important anyway.

"I am."

"Then that's all that matters. I'll say good night and let you get to bed."

She smiles.

He kisses her.

It's a quick kiss and happens just that suddenly, as though someone else nudged his soul out of his body and used the latter for his own purposes. The near-physical sense of detachment is something Herc is actually used to, but only in the narrow context of the drift. And there is no reason for the drift to impact his life anymore—not when both of his copilots are dead.

Jazmine blinks and tilts her head slightly.

"Sorry," he says quickly, and takes a step back from her. "I . . . I don't know why that happened." Which is a lie, because he knows perfectly well. But telling her why would require explaining how he could have convinced himself that he's _supposed_ to kiss her whenever she smiles 'that way.'

Whatever 'that way' is.

She shrugs. "Okay." She turns her head to give him a side eye and adds, "I'm not going to freak out on you, if that's what you're worried about. I admit I was surprised, but I don't let unwanted contact run its course."

The confidence with which she says it suggests she has experience in hand-to-hand combat. Herc recalls Raleigh's warnings and says, "I'll keep that in mind. I just don't want you to worry that I'm some dirty old man trying to take advantage of you."

She smiles again, but in an almost predatory fashion. "Oh, if that happened then it'd definitely be the other way around."

". . . Sorry?" he says again, sure that he has seen and heard what he thought he has, but not sure where it's come from or if he should be concerned.

She laughs. "Forget it. No worries, all right? We're still friends. Or at least our status as 'good neighbors' hasn't changed. Whichever you're most comfortable with."

". . . If you're sure . . ."

"Absolutely. Good night." She kisses his cheek, sees him out, and locks the door behind him.

Herc stands out on the back porch for a time, baffled, before returning to his side of the duplex and putting himself to bed. He must need more sleep, after all, if he's randomly assaulting women half his age.

* * *

The first few days after the kiss are awkward, but apparently for Herc alone. The sole change it appears to have in Jazmine's life is that she's more likely to touch his shoulders. That's it. They don't discuss the incident any further, and Herc eventually puts it aside.

He tells her that Raleigh told him she and the young man are siblings, and Jazmine confirms it. She adds to his knowledge by revealing that she's the youngest of the three Becket children, but only by about a year, and that she was desperate to be like her brothers, so she lacks a lot of traits that society considers necessary for "ladies." She has made peace with that, however, and she muses that perhaps it worked out for everyone, because her fiancé was an only child.

"I'm not saying that to feel comfortable all only-child men need a woman who isn't terribly feminine," she says, "but he did. Our interests weren't identical, but they were similar enough that we didn't have to feign interest. We'd wrestle occasionally. That sort of thing. My ability to connect with him in a way he was comfortable with was thanks, in part, to having two older brothers who treated me more like a brother than a sister." She wrinkles her nose and adds, "Sorry, that got off track."

Herc lets it go. He understands perfectly how easy it is to dwell on lost loved ones, especially those who are only recently lost.

* * *

Herc signs the last line and slides the paper across the table to Darryl. "Anything else?"

Darryl sighs as he scans the collection of papers in front of him. "Not at the moment. I told Evelyn to send everything at once, and she promised she'd do the best she can. To me, it doesn't look as though anything was left out, so you shouldn't have to come back."

That's good, though Herc doesn't say as much. Darryl is his friend, but it's been a long time since they got together as such and had a beer or something. Herc would like to chat with him and catch up, but for the moment simply doesn't have the energy. He's as emotionally exhausted as he was the last time, which is the way he always seems to get when he dwells too much on his wife or especially his son.

"Well, if there's anything more you'd like to do . . . a formal protest, or . . ."

Herc snorts. "And go to court just to be told it was all done legally? No thanks."

Darryl shakes his head. "No. It'd just be something that goes in the file. That way, whoever this client of Evelyn's is will owe you this exact amount should it come about that they were engaging in fraudulent activities."

Herc frowns. "But Chuck signed the money over."

"But your name is on the account," Darryl explains. "Chuck's actions take precedence because he was the primary account holder, but if it comes out that Chuck was coerced into signing away his money for some illegal investment scheme or the like, you may get some of it returned. At the very least you'd have the satisfaction of knowing that whoever tricked him got caught, because you'd be informed."

Herc considers it, but not for long. He shakes his head as he gets to his feet. "I don't care. It's just money. If someone else wants it that badly, they can have it." He'd hand over all the money he had, down to the last coin, and live in financial poverty for the rest of his natural life if he could just have his son back. "How much do I owe you for your time?"

Darryl spreads his hands in a gesture of refusal. "Evelyn already paid me. She said she wanted to express her gratitude for what you and Chuck did for Australia and the world."

Herc isn't impressed. "If she wanted to express her gratitude she would have found a way to let me keep my son's money."

* * *

Herc and Jazmine resettle into what has become the usual routine, and after a month or so Herc has more or less forgotten about the kiss. In the meantime he gets to know Jason a little better, and the toddler is clearly thrilled to bits to have a friend who is apparently more playful than his mother.

"It's just . . . not something I'm good at," Jazmine confesses. "I play roughly and for keeps, and you can't do that with a kid his age. I can't figure out the proper balance, so I always make him cry. I don't want to stress him, but that essentially means not playing with him at all. And since I don't go out much and take him out even less, he's really in desperate need of a buddy."

Jason isn't quite as ambitious and competitive as Chuck was, so Herc has to tone down his energy, but they find a happy medium. Herc remembers enough about Chuck's toddlerhood that he recognizes when Jason is getting frustrated—the tiny, furious scowl is almost identical—and he can usually head off a tantrum. On the occasions he's too late, a pinning hand and a firm command of, "Enough," brings an end to the fussing in short order. Once Jason quiets, Jazmine invariably cuddles him, and after questioning her reasoning Herc decides that it's not going to make a brat of the boy and holds him as well.

Seeing as he gets food and companionship out of the deal, he sees nothing wrong with just how close he's getting to both mother and child.

At first.

He takes his usual evening walk one day, and stops to chat with one of the neighbors down the way who's out doing some light gardening that seems to have started out as novel-reading on a porch swing. Small talk about the weather turns to talk of family, and part of Herc cringes away from it. But the focus is on the neighbor's kids and grandkids; Herc determines that the neighbor is so busy talking that he won't be asked about his family and relaxes. The conversation soon narrows down to the quirks of a specific child.

When the other man pauses to laugh, Herc chuckles himself and says, "My son does this thing when he's tired—" He realizes he's talking about Chuck in the present tense and stops.

Then he realizes he's describing a behavior of Jason's, not Chuck's.

He makes hasty excuses and hides in his home for the rest of the evening, frightened by and guilty for his slip. He sits on his bed and stares, unseeing, at the wall, and ignores Jazmine when she knocks on the back door to summon him to eat.

Long after she gives up and leaves him to himself he props his elbows on his knees, drops his head into his hands, and in a whisper says over and over, "I'm sorry, Chip. I'm sorry. I'm sorry . . ."

Of course, Chuck doesn't answer. He forbid the use of that particular nickname after his mother's death and stopped answering to it immediately. Also, he's dead. Forever.

For that reason, Herc is prepared to do anything in his power to not replace Chuck with Jason.

He begins in the morning.

* * *

 **To Be Continued in . . .** **Chapter 3** **– The Disorderly Identity**

Herc is an early riser and has been all his life, but he values his sleep more the older he gets. His brain isn't quite functioning properly. "Sorry, but what, exactly, are you asking me about?"

The young officer gestures at Jazmine's unit. "Someone from next door called our nonemergency line and told dispatch to send someone to pick up the body of an intruder. When we arrived, the body was on the front step."

Herc goes cold, finally fully awake. "Jazmine? Jason?"

* * *

 **Answers To Questions You Didn't Even Know You Wanted To Ask:**

" _Va te faire foutre_."

French. Google Translate says it means, "Kiss my ass"; my _D!rty French_ book says it means, "Fuck off" (literally, "Go make yourself come"). Obviously, it's not a nice thing to say.

—

If you find this fic to be somewhat fine, please take the time to drop me a line!

~RN (LS)


	3. The Disorderly Identity

**Word Count:** 6,522 ( **Total:** 24,261)

 **Rating:** T for language and some light sexual situations (all clothing stays on, but those who are squeamish about age gaps beware)

 **Date Submitted:** 1/19/18

* * *

 **Chapter 3** **– The Disorderly Identity**

* * *

Herc stops eating with Jazmine and Jason and goes back to feeding himself. Jazmine is obviously baffled by the switch and might be a bit hurt, but she respects his decision and leaves him alone thereafter. Herc considers it a small blessing that she doesn't ask why, even though she obviously wants to know.

He has to give credit to her intelligence. Other than cordial greetings whenever they encounter each other outdoors, she more or less withdraws from his life. She stops asking him to advise her on issues related to plumbing or other general home care concerns; the only thing she does is sneak onto the back porch when his back is turned while he's mowing the lawn—he still mows it for both of them—and leave him a glass of something to drink on her table. He accepts it as payment and leaves the empty glass on the table when he's done.

Loneliness sets in again, though, quicker than ever, and the suicidal thoughts come creeping back with the same speed. He considers getting a cat or a dog—he just won't let the dog out back and risk it tangling with Jason—but is in such despair that he isn't sure he can hold out until the animal passes on, no matter how old it is. He tries to wrap up his life, just in case, but can't think of a way to say goodbye to Jazmine without making her suspicious.

He also just doesn't want to say goodbye to her at all.

* * *

Through the building's dividing firewall, he hears Jason cry often. It generally starts off loud, but doesn't stay so for long; it recedes in ten or fifteen seconds, presumably because Jazmine collects him and takes him back to his bedroom at the far end of her unit. Herc can still hear it even then, but it's distant, and if he turns the television up just a few notches he can drown it out entirely.

He doesn't like doing that, though. It feels wrong, like he should be doing something to help.

It's weird.

* * *

He comes awake with a start. Eyes open in a vain search of his dark room, he listens for what woke him. A minute later, he hears it again.

Knocking. Authoritative. There's a voice as well, too muffled to make out, but it's similarly authoritative.

Herc gets to his feet and goes to the front door, alert. He peeks through the fisheye lens and sees someone in a police uniform. Lights from patrol cars are flashing in the background. So he opens the door and grimaces at the wash of cold, dry air against a body clad in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.

"I was sleeping," he informs the young man on his front stoop.

"Sorry to wake you, sir, but there's been an incident. I was wondering if you heard anything earlier."

Herc sighs. "I was _sleeping_."

"Yes, sir," is the admirably patient response. "I meant before that."

"No," he replies. "Everything was normal, as far as I can recall."

"And when did you go to bed last night?"

"Oh, twenty-two hundred. Twenty-three hundred, maybe. What time is it now?"

"Three a.m., sir."

Ugh.

Herc is an early riser and has been all his life, but he values his sleep more the older he gets. His brain isn't quite functioning properly. "Sorry, but what, exactly, are you asking me about?"

The young officer gestures at Jazmine's unit. "Someone from next door called our nonemergency line and told dispatch to send someone to pick up the body of an intruder. When we arrived, the body was on the front step."

Herc goes cold, finally fully awake. "Jazmine? Jason?"

"Are those the names of the residents? No one has answered the door yet. I don't suppose you have a key? Otherwise we'll have to break it down."

"Yeah, yeah, a mo . . ." Alarmed, Herc spins away and finds the keys to Jazmine's unit which she's never asked him to return. He supposes it only makes sense, since he's still the best person for anyone to contact if there is some emergency. It occurs to him that he should pull on a pair of shorts while he's at it, so he does. Getting the dark khaki board shorts on and zipped helps get his brain in gear.

He has the door to Jazmine's unit opened in a jiffy, and carefully occupies the doorway to block the police from rushing around him and possibly stumbling into some sort of trap. It's strange that the bar latch isn't in place, but it makes sense that she'd expect the police to want to speak to her—even though it seems obvious to Herc that she doesn't want to speak to them, if she left the body outside her front door—and made it possible for them to enter without destroying her door frame along with her door.

"Jazmine?"

The unit is dark and silent. Herc peers around the room, just in case. Everything seems to be in place, so he takes a slow step in.

"Mister Hansen," someone says behind him, "please step aside. The killer may still be around."

Herc snorts. It's not a matter of 'may'—he's _sure_ the killer is still around.

" _She hasn't acted unbalanced."_

" _She isn't. That's what makes her dangerous."_

"' _Dangerous' isn't a word I've found reason to associate with her."_

" _That's the point. Just don't make her think you mean her or her kid any harm and you'll be fine."_

" _Are you_ _ **trying**_ _to scare me?"_

" _I'm trying to_ _ **warn**_ _you, sir. You seem to think she's harmless just because she hasn't flipped out on you over anything; I'm telling you she isn't, because failing to know that could put you in a bad place."_

Raleigh said that Jazmine is dangerous, and while Herc still finds that somewhat hard to believe he's not so stupid as to dismiss it; obviously, Raleigh would know his own sister better than Herc could ever pretend. And then, again, there are Jazmine's own words.

" _Mister Dillon was fine, except for the fact that he grew senile and kept trying to come into my home . . . then he started threatening to beat Jason if I wouldn't. I drew the line there . . . I couldn't risk him hurting Jason. Because if he had been able to, I would have killed him."_

He glances over his shoulder at the police. "Jazmine's . . . touchy. I doubt there was more than one intruder, or there'd be more than one body. She knows me; she doesn't know any of you. I'll take the lead."

Aware they'll only argue with him if he stands there and not interested in explaining his training in both the RAAF and the PPDC, Herc moves deeper into the house. The police spread out into the sitting room and kitchen, but Herc heads right for the hallway. Jazmine would have answered him if she were in the front area, so that she didn't means she isn't. The police are forced behind him again as the space bottlenecks at the hallway, and they're restless as he slowly checks the few rooms along it.

When he opens the door to Jason's room, Herc looks around, then steps aside. "There's your crime scene." The room looks as though it's been dealt a glancing blow by a cyclone; all the light objects in the room are knocked over or tossed, and the little blankets on Jason's bed are twisted and draping over the bed's edge. They're indicating the window, which was smashed in and then later boarded up. There's no blood, which he thinks is strange, but he leaves that to the police to figure out and turns to the only room left—Jazmine's.

All his senses are on high alert. He's calm, but wary. The bedroom is more her lair than any other room in her unit, and carelessness could lead to trouble. Herc opens the door and blocks the doorway like usual. The room is absolutely black but for the lights from outside that leak around the edges of the blackout curtains over the windows. He reaches for the light switch. "I'm turning on the light, Jazmine."

When the light comes on it reveals Jazmine sitting on the bed, Jason lying close against her hip, with her feet tucked partway beneath her. Her eyes are closed, but her posture is alert; she's halfway to a position that would end with an attacking lunge. Her expression is deadly serious, but not angry, apparently.

" _She doesn't seem to be angry."_

" _Her anger is calm. Quiet. I don't know whether she's just naturally like that or if it's that thing women do because it's not ladylike to show the ugly emotions. Our mother didn't believe in withholding feelings, but she did believe that there was a time and place, and that wouldn't be in front of you. Our father wasn't exactly more traditional, but the things he taught us included firm self-control. He was particularly hard on Jazmine, so those lessons are really embedded in her."_

Herc ignores it, but does stay in the doorway. "You all right? Jason?"

"Fine," she says shortly. "Now get out of my house, and take _them_ with you."

One of the police tries to duck under his arm, but Herc catches the eager kid and pushes him back, gentle but firm. "You stay out of that room."

"But someone is dead!"

"I don't give a good Goddamn," Herc replies. "Unless you want to be next in the tally, you stay out of that bloody room."

The cop looks from him to Jazmine, incredulous. "But I'm the police!"

"That really doesn't matter," Herc assures him. At least, Herc can't imagine that the police would get any special consideration.

"I still need a statement," an older man announces from down the hall. He didn't come into the house with Herc, so he must have followed later. If he isn't in charge of the scene, he acts as though he is.

Jazmine raises her voice to say, "My statement is that three hours after I put my son to bed I heard glass break and my son started crying. A few years back I caught a previous neighbor creeping around the outside of my house, testing my son's bedroom window, so I assumed that person or someone else was trying to abduct him. When I entered his room, I found him under the arm of a man who was halfway back out of the shattered window. I dealt with that man to protect my son's life. Then I boarded up my son's window, contacted the police to let them know there was a corpse in need of collecting, and dragged the body outside so I wouldn't have to be rudely disturbed. As I have been despite my effort, clearly."

The older man steps around his subordinate to see her, but doesn't attempt to enter the room. "You admit that you killed that man?"

"Children not found within the first twenty-four hours after abduction tend to be found in shallow graves in local parks four years after they're murdered," Jazmine answers. She opens her eyes and frowns at him. "That makes child abduction a violent crime. Since my son is too young and weak to defend his own life, and since I can't depend on the police to retrieve him before he's years dead, I took action."

"Then you admit that you killed him."

Gingerly, Jazmine lifts the hem of her shirt. Fresh gauze has been wrapped around her ribs to pin down a gauze pad positioned over her liver. Blood hasn't reached the top layer, but Herc can see pink. It's a miracle that her baby wasn't hit; if she'd been any farther along, it might not have turned out so well.

"I stopped him in defense of my son," she says. "I killed him in defense of myself and my baby."

The man looks at the subordinate Herc stopped. "Medic."

"Oh, is one of your men hurt?" Jazmine asks as she tugs her shirt hem back into place. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Please do go be with him, and have a good night. Everything is under control here."

As though she hadn't spoken, the man says to her, "You need to come with me, Miss . . .?"

She ignores his probe for her name. "Actually, as the person who knows me the best, I can safely say that I _don't_ need to go anywhere with you. I do, however, need to stay right here with my son so that after his traumatic experience he can feel safe while he sleeps."

"Someone else can watch him."

Even Herc finds the callous statement appalling and offensive—the man must have been a bachelor all his life, to not understand or care that a frightened child is best left with his parents—so he's not at all surprised by or critical of Jazmine's snap of, "I would never leave my son in the care of strangers."

"Surely you have a husband? A family?"

She snorts, derisive. "My _husband_ gave his life to save others. As for family, sure—I suppose I can ring up my brother. It'll only take him twenty-four hours to fly in from Anchorage, barring weather delays. Not that my son has ever met him before, seeing as he was God knows where playing with steel and concrete and rebar for the past five years. And I admit they're strangers to my son as well, but perhaps I can try calling my extended family to visit from where they live. In France."

"Your husband's family?"

"All dead."

Before the kaiju, it would have been a strange circumstance. But millions of people along the Pacific rim had died in one way or another because of them, and most families had been decimated. Dead spouses, children, parents, cousins . . . It's entirely possible that Jazmine has no one to turn to who isn't thousands of miles away.

Herc sees the police commander—or whoever he is—isn't going to let up, and the situation is only going to escalate into a high-stress shouting match that will upset Jason, who's so far still sleeping. He sees only one way to diffuse the conflict. "I'll watch him."

Jazmine considers him, then says, "If you don't mind."

"He knows me," Herc reminds her, "but you should wake him and let him know you're going."

Jason is extremely unhappy to learn of his mother's departure. He cries and tries to grab at her, but she lifts him away and hands him to Herc. Then she's out the door with the police. Herc attempts to soothe him, but it takes Jason a long time to do anything other than wail and bleat for his mother's return. It's only when Herc has one of the investigating police grab Jason's diaper bag for him—after a thorough search, naturally—and takes bag and boy to his own unit that the quieter and darker surroundings help Jason regain his calm.

"There now," Herc soothes as he sets the bag on the floor near his bed. "It's a little better here, isn't it?"

"Mummy . . ." Jason whimpers.

"Mummy will be back soon," Herc promises. "She has to talk to the police for a bit."

Unlike Jazmine, Herc _has_ secured his door so that it will need to be broken down if the police want any sort of statement from him before Jazmine can return and take Jason back. And if they do, he's going to give them an earbashing they'll remember. In the meantime, he sits on his bed with Jason, lays the toddler next to his pillow, and then gets himself settled. He pulls the covers up over himself and makes sure they're not too close to Jason, who's clad in a soft, snug onesie that will definitely keep him warm for a climate-controlled night; Herc is sure Jason is old and strong enough that suffocation isn't a major concern, but he doesn't want to risk it.

Herc has no television in his bedroom and the charge cord for his phone isn't long enough to reach the bed, so there's no way to distract Jason until the toddler tires and falls asleep. Jason whimpers and fusses for his mother, then gives a single cry of, "Daddy!" before he turns to Herc and reaches out.

Herc has promised to watch over Jason, so he can't hide from the designation. But he doesn't reassure the boy, either. He just puts up with the child's tears, and after two hours Jason finally drifts off. Herc turns his back to the lightening sky beyond his window and, exhausted, falls asleep himself.

* * *

The police _do_ want to speak to him again, it turns out. Herc, who hasn't seen or heard a thing from Jazmine in nearly thirty-six hours, has already lost his patience with them before they even knock on his door.

"This is obviously self-defence," he snaps when they begin asking his opinion of Jazmine's sanity. That's not what they call it, of course, but Herc's been around for much too long to let verbal fluff get in his way. "I don't get why the hell you're so damned sure she started it."

"She killed a man, Mister Hansen," the woman across from him says. "If she'd left him alive, this might be over by now."

"I doubt that," he replies. "You just haven't figured out how she managed to do it, given the size difference between the two of them." Herc had been asked to identify the corpse, if he could, but he had refused to leave the house while he looked after Jason. Within an hour of that call, they'd brought him a picture to look at. It had been of the man's face, but there had been enough of his shoulders visible at the bottom of the image that Herc had gotten a good idea of how big he was. Without Raleigh's warning—and without already knowing how damn devious Beckets were in battle—he'd be questioning it as well. "But mothers do amazing things for their kids."

"That's a myth."

"The sheer extent of it is exaggerated, perhaps," Herc counters, "but an adult woman desperate to save her child from an adult man? He'd be dead. And he is." Even his wife, for all her lack of specialized training, had come close to hospitalizing an off-duty store clerk who'd found Chuck alone in an aisle; aware of the risk she was taking she'd slipped alone into a badly crowded aisle nearby for something, and when she heard a man's voice speaking kindly to Chuck she immediately assumed the worst. Instead of asking questions, she attacked. It had taken three other women—two uniformed store employees and the man's own wife, who happened to be there—to vouch for his good intentions before she calmed down and apologized.

She certainly possessed an aggressive streak, but Herc can count on one hand the number of times it had extended beyond verbal aggression. And at no time except that one had she gone straight from being calm to being potentially murderous. Herc doesn't doubt that, with no one to intervene, a woman with the background Jazmine supposedly has could kill a man of any size. Without a weapon in hand, all she would have to do is find a way to get a hold of his head and twist . . . and from little what Herc's seen and been told, that is exactly what she did.

The police get up to leave, obviously unsatisfied. At the door, the female officer stops and turns back to him. "Child services can take the boy, Mister Hansen. He's not your responsibility."

Oh yes he is. More so than she could ever possibly imagine. Which means that if they want Jason, they'll pry him from Herc's cold, dead fingers.

Outwardly, however, Herc merely frowns. "You'll have to take that up with his mother. I'm not handing him to anyone without her permission."

* * *

Jazmine finally knocks on his back door—so that he knows it's her—late, late at night. Despite the hour, she looks alert and somewhat annoyed, the latter of which Herc entirely understands. Still, there are dark marks under her eyes and she's clad in the same thin nightwear Herc had seen her in two days ago.

"Jesus Christ," he blurts. "They didn't even let you get a change of clothes?"

"No," she replies, either missing or ignoring the rhetoric of the question. She peers past him. "He asleep?"

"Yeah." He steps aside to let her in. "My room. Second on the left." He watches her head for the hall as he shuts the door, thinks, then locks the door and follows her. Her unit isn't secure, what with the window being broken and the police making the occasional visit to do more unnecessary exploration. She's safer and will get better rest in his unit. "You all right?"

"Eh?"

There's no bloodstain on her clothes, but he says anyway, "Your wound."

"Oh. It's healing. The cops took me to the hospital and the resident on call was highly critical of the stitch job I did as well as how I put my baby 'in danger' by not rushing to the hospital in a panic. I told him I wasn't trying to win an award, that it was my body and my baby, and that he was welcome to fuck himself at the next available opportunity. That's as exciting as that got."

Jazmine is clearly relieved to see Jason. She sits on the bed at his feet and just gazes at him for a bit. It's as she's reaching for him that Herc says softly, "Leave him. You should both stay here at least for tonight."

She looks over at him. "I couldn't. You've already done so much."

" _Stay_."

She turns away with a frown. Herc realizes she's exhausted and will obey if he insists for long enough, so he adds, "I'll sleep in the sitting room."

She whips around to stare, open-mouthed and appalled. " _No_! I'm not going to make you give up your bed!"

"Nor would I let you," he counters. "Which means I must be volunteering to give it up for tonight. Right now, it's safer and especially quieter than your side." She's clearly not convinced, but he knows how to land the last punch. "Look, you should leave Jason here so that he can get unbroken sleep. But he's been asking for you, so you should be here so he can see you when he wakes up. And since I can tell you could do with some unbroken sleep yourself, you may as well stay too."

With that, he turns and walks out, tugging the door closed after himself. He grabs a blanket from the hall closet and settles in the recliner that he probably really should replace but can't bring himself to because it's molded to the shape of his body and thus pretty comfortable. He falls asleep much easier than in the past two days, calmed by the knowledge that Jazmine and Jason are both safe and sound. With him.

* * *

The next morning, Jazmine picks through his meager bachelor's stock of foodstuff and, in the way it seems chefs manage to do, is able to make breakfast for three. Herc is awakened by the glorious scent of it and discovers Jason atop the blanket, tucked into the crook of his arm, apparently without him ever feeling it happen. He gets a big good-morning grin from the toddler—the first since Jazmine went away with the police—and can't help smiling in return. They entertain each other quietly until Jazmine emerges from the kitchen to collect them. But she sees them before she speaks, so she stops and watches for a few minutes.

"That's so cute it's obnoxious," she sighs happily. "I really do hate to break up your boy time, but breakfast is ready now."

She picks Jason up, much to the toddler's dismay, and carts him into the kitchen, where she's moved his high chair for the meal. Herc wads the blanket in beside his thigh, rights the recliner, and stretches as he gets to his feet. A wide yawn follows as he meanders to the table.

"Ah," Jazmine chides as he grabs the back of the nearest chair. "Wash your hands." She's already wiping Jason's down, with experience helping her to easily outmaneuver the uncooperative boy.

Being an adult, Herc is less rebellious. "Oh, right . . ." He detours to the sink and obediently cleans up. "Good of you to say that before I sat down, or my knees might have refused to get back up."

She pauses and turns, smiling. "Come now, a young man such as yourself already has knee problems?"

He snorts and settles into his chosen chair. "Sorry, no young men here."

"Give me a break," she scolds. "You aren't old." She hesitates. "Actually, how old _are_ you?"

"Forty-six."

Her jaw drops. " _What_?! I thought you were, like, in your late thirties!"

Herc can't imagine how she's come to that conclusion. He isn't vain—he knows he looks every year of his age and maybe a few beyond it. "I wish."

She flails her arms. "Oh, whatever! The point stands! Men only start getting old after they hit retirement."

"If that's the case, I _am_ old."

"Retirement _age_." She gets to her feet and retrieves two plates. The small one she places in front of Jason, the bigger one she sets in front of Herc. She then bends down, hugs Herc in a kindly and platonic way, then admits devilishly, "In the interest of being completely and brutally honest, I'd fuck ya."

It's eight o'clock in the morning. He's about to eat breakfast. Considering how incredibly _not_ suggestive Jazmine's words are when combined with her behavior and tone of voice, there's no reason whatsoever for Herc's body to respond the way it does. His embarrassment is acute, so he covers it up with, "How comforting."

"Hey!"

It really is not only unfair to say, but a lie as well. It's more than comforting—it's hugely flattering. To his knowledge, Jazmine knows little about his income or past with the PPDC—though she may have been able to guess, if she knows Raleigh's history well enough—so she's presumably not after him for money or fame. And they've spoken about a variety of topics, so he knows that she's neither shallow nor dismissive of his own intelligence. She's also not ugly or desperate, and while Herc doesn't want to get tangled up in a romantic relationship, he can't deny that he sees her as a woman. If he had less self-control or drank more, it probably wouldn't take much to convince him to hop into bed with her.

He's leery, however, of getting involved with someone so much younger than him. There's a generational divide, mainly—not as great as it could be, since they do listen to each other, and not only having a son but having his son as a jaeger copilot means Herc's familiar with the newer fads and slang terminology Jazmine occasionally throws out. Even more problematic is that she's already lost someone dear, and ever since Chuck died Herc hasn't trusted his will to live; he doesn't want to hurt her any worse than he already would by abandoning their young but oddly solid friendship.

Fortunately, Jazmine notices nothing more than the casual flirting the exchange started off as, so when she lets him go to retrieve her own plate Herc takes the opportunity to scoot his chair a little farther under the table to better conceal his condition. _Un_ fortunately, his condition barely improves as the meal progresses.

Jazmine is in some sort of hurry. She eats quickly, barely pausing to ask, "Could I impose upon you to look after Jason again today so I can clean up my place and make a call to get that window replaced? I understand if you can't, but it'll be easier if he isn't underfoot."

Herc clearly remembers just how badly Chuck, at the same age, always wanted to be a part of whatever his parents were doing. It was endearing but intrusive, so it takes no effort to empathize with the request. "Sure. Do you need a loan for the window or anything?" At her frown, he adds, "No offense, but I thought your money might be tied up in your work or something, and I have some spare cash."

She shakes her head. "Thank you, but no. I'm okay."

"A _real_ loan," he offers, "interest-free, but granted with the expectation of repayment." Not that he'd ever worry if there was none, but he figures that will make Jazmine more comfortable with the idea.

She shakes her head again. "Really, I'm fine. I've actually . . . come into a bit of money recently."

He shouldn't be, but Herc is curious. "Oh?"

"Consolation prize."

Oh.

". . . Oh," is Herc's eloquent response.

She snorts and gets to her feet to take her plate to the sink. "A pittance. The money he left me is much more than that. I grant that under other circumstances I may have gotten a little more, but we weren't married and because of his background I didn't want his name on Jason's birth records. Not before everything was over and he didn't have to come and go, at least. He signed for me to receive the money, apparently, but without proof that I was more than a grieving friend I guess they weren't willing to pay what a widow I spoke to told me she got."

There's a rock in Herc's stomach. He can guess, but he asks anyway, "What was the difference?"

She sighs. "I got three digits. She got five."

Herc cringes inside. It's a lot of money to miss out on.

"It's my fault," she says as she washes her dishes. Herc thinks the dishes are a pretense, because she sounds sad and angry at the same time. He suspects she doesn't want to chance crying in front of him. "Jason's safety is too important for me to risk it just to get money, even if it's money that would make his life a little more comfortable. I won't pretend I'm sitting pretty," she vows, "but I'm not poor. Financially, we're not in a position I'd prefer to be in, but we're not going to starve to death or anything. We're fine." She finishes with the dishes and dries her hands with a tea towel, then turns to him and smiles. It seems a little hollow to Herc. "I appreciate the offer, though, and I'll definitely keep it in mind. I wouldn't accept if it were just about me, but since Jason's involved I won't take it off the table."

Herc nods. There's nothing more to say.

"All right!" she announces with forced cheer. "Onward and upward!" She crosses to Jason's high chair and gives him a kiss on the head. "You stay here with Mister Hansen for a while longer," she purrs, altering her accent to a more Australian inflection the way she always does when she addresses the boy. It's inappropriately appealing to Herc, who's still waiting for his groin area to make itself presentable again.

Jason looks concerned. "Mummy, don't go!"

"It's all right," Jazmine croons. "Mummy's just going over to our house for a bit. I won't be far." She gives Herc a more real smile as she says with her usual American accent, "Thanks. I'll be back for lunch and supper."

He watches her leave, fighting a bafflingly powerful urge to follow her and drag her back into his unit so he can do some unsavory things to her. He has no idea where it's come from.

One second after the back door closes, Herc loses the fight. He gets to his feet and gives chase.

Jazmine is halfway across their joint back porch, and the sound of the door has clearly alerted her to his presence. She pauses and turns to him as she gestures at the steady rain that's falling beyond the awning. "Busting out the dividing wall was a good ide—"

He grabs her and kisses her. He's a little rougher than intended, but he's sure it gets his message across all the same. And if the kiss doesn't, surely the erection pressing against her swelling abdomen does.

It's insane, the way part of him wants to ravish her. Especially considering what she's just been through in the past week. Chuck's drift phantom—that little bit of Chuck that will be in Herc's head for the rest of his life, however long that lasts—is terribly amused by Herc's loss of control.

Herc is definitely not.

He yanks away from Jazmine. It's perhaps somewhat melodramatic, but it has the desired effect of shaking him from his focus on her mouth and body. He turns away slightly, humiliated by his lapse. "S-Sorry." He can't remember the last time he stuttered because of his own shame. "Jesus . . ."

He doesn't dare _look_ , but in his periphery he can see that Jazmine is studying him. Her gaze is intent. Calm. Apparently not the calm anger Raleigh warned him about, however. She doesn't seem to be anxious, but she isn't dismissing anything, either.

"You can be angry," he tells her. "You _should_ be angry."

"I would be if I were," she replies. "But at worst, I'm merely annoyed. I don't like disruptions. I trust you," she adds, "but this _is_ getting to a point where I'm questioning that. I like you, though, and I don't want to lose your friendship. We need to talk. Later."

He shakes his head. He definitely doesn't want to talk about it. Ever.

"Tomorrow," she tells him, either not noticing or, more likely, refusing to accept his refusal. "Or whenever I don't have to worry anymore about this bullshit." She jerks her head at her unit. "See you at lunch."

With that, Herc gets away with sexually molesting his neighbor.

He stands alone on the back porch for a while, staring at the brickwork that comprises the back wall of the duplex. Just staring, without even doing something productive like thinking. About anything. It's Jason's crying that reminds him of his day's duty. When he finally notices what he's doing he knows immediately that it's drift yen—a bad habit common to almost every tenured jaeger pilot ever, presumed by J-science to be the brain's attempt to drift without the assistance of technology. The 'why' of it is still unknown, but there are plenty of theories, including a yearning for the unity that had been created by past successful drifts. Herc's been doing it periodically for a little more than a decade, but it never bothered him until Chuck died. It could explain things.

Herc hopes it does. It would make his behavior easier to understand, and by extension easier to deal with.

* * *

"Okay, so, what's going on?" Jazmine asks while she paces the sitting room. Jason has refused to go to bed without her, so she's been forced to carry him around and comfort him for the past hour. Herc doesn't like it at all, because she's even more pregnant than before he stopped eating in her unit and it doesn't seem like a good idea for a pregnant woman to be carrying a squirmy toddler on top of her more delicate unborn child, but Jazmine seems fine with it, so he keeps his mouth shut. Surely she knows better than he does how much she can handle and how much of Jason's fidgeting is acceptable.

"I don't know," he admits.

She scoffs lightly. "That's impossible."

"No, not really," he informs her.

"Explain."

"Can't. If I'm right, it's related to classified equipment. If I'm wrong, I have no other ideas."

She pauses and gives him a _look_.

He snorts. "You think I _like_ spontaneously assaulting the sister of someone I know well enough to know I don't want to cross him?"

"Seeing as he's half a planet away from where you're sitting, my self-absorbed brother is definitely not the person you should be worrying about not crossing."

Herc doesn't have to be intimidated to be wary. He meets her gaze evenly, but is ready to launch from his recliner and out of her range of attack. "I can't talk about it. At least not until I make a call and get confirmation that what I'm thinking happened _can_ happen. If so, I'll tell you everything."

"And if you're told that it isn't possible? Then what? Am I supposed to happily accept that since you don't know what's causing it, you can't stop it, so every time I get too close to you I run the risk of being assaulted for the _third time_?"

It's his turn to scoff. "Of course not."

"Well, you aren't giving me a lot of information to draw conclusions from."

"I told you, woman, I _don't_ — _know_!"

Jazmine isn't pleased. She looks down at him, her amber eyes cold and calculating. Finally, she says, "I'll be watching you. Be very careful. Do anything I don't like and you'll regret it."

"Anything you don't like? Like _what_?"

She leans toward him. "I don't know."

Herc throws his hands up, patience worn through. "For fuck's sake!"

"The level of my retaliation will depend on the severity of your infraction," she offers.

"Oh, like that's any more helpful."

"More so than you've been," she counters. "Good night." She goes to the back door, opens it, pauses, then turns to him and says ever so politely, "Thank you for watching Jason today."

He waves his hand dismissively, offended and maybe a touch petulant. Nothing she said was unreasonable, exactly, but was clearly meant to strike back at him for his lack of openness. It's annoying because he's been totally honest with her, but she's too nosy to just put up with it for a bit longer.

But she shouldn't _have_ to put up with it, he reminds himself sternly. She's a human being, not a pet or a houseplant—she's not wrong to expect to receive respect as long as she shows it herself, and she has. _He's_ the one who's randomly treating her as though she's not entitled to know about something that's most definitely affecting her ability to live a normal life. She's completely entitled to know whether the man who's living in the unit beside hers might turn his creepy attention to her innocent child.

Which is what she's wondering, he decides. Quite some time ago, she made it clear verbally that Jason is the most important person in her life. And just a week ago she killed a man for trying to abduct the boy. If she ever catches Herc doing anything to Jason that might be remotely construed as harmful, physically or psychologically, it's likely Herc's corpse will be the next one the cops are collecting from her doorstep.

. . . It's good to be sure of _one_ thing, anyway.

* * *

Jason cries almost incessantly for the next four days. Herc still hates hearing it, not because it's annoying but because, like before, he feels like he isn't doing his job. Except that he isn't really responsible for Jason in any way; being a babysitter, paid or not, to a child that isn't his is anything but a lifelong obligation. He can quit anytime or be 'fired,' and each has now occurred.

Nevertheless, it's become necessary to actively fight the insidious tendrils of some deep-seated urge to go do something about 'his son's' distress when Jason's crying becomes loud enough while he's being moved that Herc can hear him calling for his father. Herc has to remind himself over and over, using the brutal blunt-force trauma of memories barely six months old, that his son—Charles Hansen, Chuck, little Chip, not Jason Lapierre or Becket or whatever—is absolutely and unquestionably dead. Blown to a million irradiated bits that doubtless fed any number of deep-sea dwellers at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. At just twenty-one years of age.

Twenty-two. Whichever.

Too young either way. Too young.

He can tell by how quiet Jason's crying is that Jazmine is keeping the toddler in the rooms at the far end of her unit so he doesn't disrupt Herc's daily life. But she's getting frantic. She doesn't shout at or strike Jason, Herc believes, but she curses at her computer while working, is short with her clients on the phone, and is impatient with her cooking. On one occasion, he hears glass shatter. Jazmine curses in French in so vicious a way that it's clear it's something she did and not another break-in. From time to time, Herc thinks he can hear her crying, too.

Even with all that, Herc has essentially made his sitting room his bedroom. Part of the reason for it is that his bed smells like Jazmine, which makes him want her in every conceivable way, but he can't bring himself to get the sheets off it and give them a wash because then her scent would be gone and its comforting properties would be lost, and he might actually feel lonely enough to kill himself. So he sleeps in his recliner, which isn't the best idea he's ever had since its form-fitting shape is offset by the mostly squashed cushioning, but working out the stiffness it causes gives him something to do during the day. He also feels he's closer to Jazmine that way, not only physically but emotionally. It may be indirect, but he's still offering as much support as he can for being more or less banished from her life.

He wishes he could do more. For both of them.

* * *

There's a knock on the back door. Herc dreads answering it, but does anyway.

Jazmine is clearly exhausted. The dark smudges under her eyes, which had initially left her after she was reunited with her son and allowed to sleep, have returned darker than before. Her shoulders are rounded and she's trembling. She looks as though she hasn't eaten since she left Herc's unit. Red marks on her cheeks prove she's been crying as he suspected.

It concerns Herc. Even if, as an adult, she can handle a few days of hunger and sleeplessness, she happens to also be pregnant. His wife had never mistreated herself yet still had a close call; he worries what Jazmine's poor physical and mental conditions are doing to not only her, but also the baby.

Jason is no better off, but his problem seems half dealt with. Herc realizes why when the toddler reaches for him. "Daddy!"

He recoils, alarmed. The last thing his unstable head needs is for a little boy he's half thinking of as a son to clearly and directly identify him as a father for a second time.

"Please," Jazmine begs. "Please. He won't stop crying. Please hold him."

He's reluctant to accept Jason, but Jazmine and Jason both need him desperately. So he extends his arms. Once the toddler is with him, all of them are quiet. Jazmine is visibly relieved. Jason curls close against Herc's chest and begins to suck his own thumb. Herc just holds him and rests his cheek against the boy's head. It's an eerily familiar feeling—too easy to recall to be a memory as old as it should be.

 _Mine mine mine._

 _My son._

Herc tries to shake the thoughts away and replace them with images of Chuck. Of his _real_ son.

They fight back.

 _MINE MINE MINE._

 _MY SON._

It's scary. He knows he's losing his mind, if it isn't already gone. He tries to give Jason back to Jazmine before he hurts the child, but his arms won't work. It feels as though someone is pressing on them, but apparently not so hard that Jason is harmed, since the toddler doesn't cry. Panic sets in.

 _MINE MINE_ _ **MINE**_ _!_

 _ **MY**_ _SON!_

Then it's gone.

He gasps.

". . . Herc? . . . Herc?"

He focuses on Jazmine, who looks very concerned. "Take him, please," he croaks, and is finally able to get his arms to function.

She accepts Jason, even though he begins to fuss again. Despite her weariness, her amber eyes have gained an edge of sharpness. Watchfulness. "Herc, you aren't okay."

 _He's_ shaking now. All over. "No, I'm not. Something's . . . I'm not safe. Get out. Don't come here again."

She takes a step back and turns a little, placing herself between him and Jason. "Should I call someone for you? My brother, or . . .?"

She's smart and a good mother, to take him seriously and not be afraid of offending him with her caution. He feels a burst of affection for her, too strong to be called simple 'like.' " _Go_."

She does.

Once alone, he regains some control of himself. But the loneliness comes back too, worse than ever. He retreats to the corner of the unit that's farthest from Jazmine and Jason, finds his mobile, and places a call to the only person he can think of who might know what the hell is going on with him. Because he suspects the worst.

* * *

 **To Be Continued in . . .** **Chapter 4** **– The Mother's Memories**

Herc wants to ask what the hell is going on, but the video isn't over and he can't bring himself to interrupt it. Careful to avoid anything on television that might relate to the PPDC, he hasn't heard his son's voice for months; though Chuck's drift phantom is in his head, it hasn't 'spoken' a word since Chuck died. Herc knows it's something he caused to happen, but he hasn't wanted to fix it. So he stays quiet, and just watches and listens. He sees Chuck's joy become shadowed.

"I wish . . . I wish my dad was here."

It's a one-two punch to the heart and gut. Herc, too, wishes he'd been there, and doesn't understand how so much could have happened that he just wasn't made privy to. He'd never imagined the drift could allow something of such import to go unnoticed.

* * *

If you find this fic to be somewhat fine, please take the time to drop me a line!

~RN (LS)


	4. The Mother's Memories

**Word Count:** 10,593 ( **Total:** 34,854)

 **Rating:** T for language and some light sexual situations (all clothing stays on, but those who are squeamish about age gaps beware)

 **Date Submitted:** 1/26/18

* * *

 **Chapter 4** **– The Mother's Memories**

* * *

"I don't know . . ." Raleigh says, with such doubt in his voice that Herc would have been quite annoyed had the comment been aimed at him.

Tendo—who was probably the one to alert him to Herc's condition, unless Jazmine did—is more objective. "I'm not asking for your opinion, Becket boy, just your experience."

"Okay, then, yes," Raleigh says. "I did have . . . disorientation. But it was virtually immediate. And once the hangover wore off it never happened again. I _really_ don't see how you could draw a parallel—"

"Shut up, man," Tendo says. Raleigh opens his mouth to continue. "Ah. _No_. Bad Becket."

Raleigh closes his mouth and rolls his eyes.

Mako is looking through the observation window, obviously worried. Herc wishes he didn't look as weak and miserable as he feels, but he's certain he does. He's in _isolation_ , for God's sake, like he's some kind of walking contagion. Even if he was the one to decide he should be there it's still humiliating, which only makes it that much worse. He hasn't left Australia, but he feels as though he's on Mars.

"I'm looking at everything right now," Tendo says after a minute. "He's special too, you know. The oldest surviving ranger, the longest enlistment . . ." He hesitates before adding, ". . . survived two copilots." He lowers his voice, and Herc can barely hear him when he says, "His psych evaluation said there might be problems because of his age. The implication then was his ability to drift with Chuck, but it may be that he's drifted so long, so often, for so many years that his brain can't keep everything separate as it ages."

Raleigh looks stricken. ". . . You mean an identity disorder?"

Tendo is solemn. "It isn't _Herc_ we need to be wary of. It's his brother."

Raleigh straightens and frowns.

Mako looks between them. "Why his brother?"

Scott was fine for the longest time. Flawed, like anyone else, but a good man when it really mattered. The siren's call of celebrity, however, ruined him. Taken his flaws, inflated them to gargantuan proportions, and lit them up like a neon sign. His selfishness and possessiveness, in particular, took on edges of violence. The time they were nearly killed because of what Herc saw in the drift wasn't an event as much as that he witnessed his brother's consciousness change form in Headspace, in a way it never had before. And that change was so terrible it panicked Herc—not for his own sake, but for Chuck's. It was that sight that made Herc realize exactly how dangerous Scott had become, and he hadn't wanted Chuck to fall victim to that beast thinking he was safe with the uncle who once watched over him so well.

That was why Herc went to their CO with the knowledge of his brother's illicit activities which he had long ago gathered outside the drift. Not because it was the right thing to do, but because it was the thing that would protect his son. And the mere fact that Scott knew that but been angry with Herc anyway only assured him that he did the right thing. He hadn't wanted his brother to die, but it was a possibility he'd accepted to ensure the security of his only child; he'd made that particular choice years back when he'd agreed to copilot with Scott. His brother had doubtless died hating him for making the choice—even though at one time he would never have questioned it—and the rage had returned to get its revenge.

Or something.

Raleigh doesn't know all of that, but he knows enough, and he shares it with Mako. It's embarrassing to have it aired out, but his brother was a terrible womanizer and Herc doesn't want her thinking she isn't at risk. Scott may have fixated on Jazmine and Jason for the moment, but that can switch over or extend to anyone or anything he decides he wants.

And it seems as though this time, there isn't a damn thing Herc can do about it.

* * *

After a few long and lonely days in a quasi-isolation—he's never actually locked in, but he doesn't trust what he might do anymore and so keeps mainly to himself—Herc looks up from his clasped hands and spots Raleigh standing at the observation window. Jazmine is with him.

Seeing her makes his chest feel hollow and his heart ache. He's missed her.

She gives him a warm smile and takes the few steps necessary to get to the door of his room. She opens it and pokes her head in. "May I?"

It takes him a minute to make his throat work properly. "Yeah." As she steps in, he asks, "Where's Jason?"

"Miss Mori is watching him." She obviously catches sight of his surprise. "Raleigh's drifted with her. My brother is a dumbass, but at the very least he would never place a child in harm's way if he suspected there was any chance of it happening."

Beyond the window, Raleigh rolls his eyes and then strolls out of sight.

Jazmine sits next to Herc on his bed and smiles again. Before he can stop it his arm slips around her waist and pulls her in to his hip with perhaps a little too strong a jerk. She's unprepared for it, so the gesture causes her to sort of flop across his lap, and for a moment she looks startled, but then she smiles once more, straightens, and lays her head on his shoulder.

He's nervous. But it's not a bad nervous—it's more a giddy, boyish nervous. A happy nervous. It reminds him of the way he felt in the early days of his dates with his wife, who was at the time merely his girlfriend; they got comfortable with each other quicker than most couples, but at the start Herc experienced the very same butterflies-in-stomach sensation so many others admitted to having. Accompanying the nervousness is an incongruous sense of peaceful relief.

 _She chose me._

He tries to push it away, because he doesn't want to get entangled in another relationship—certainly not in his brother's name—but it resists. In desperation, he asks, "Would you . . . tell me about him?"

"Him?" Jazmine echoes blankly. She lifts her head to look at him, then says, "Oh, my fiancé?"

"Yes." Hastily, he adds, "If it won't upset you." Maybe if he hears about her significant other it will drive home the fact that she's unavailable. Maybe there's still enough of the old Scott left in him to respect that and leave her and Jason alone.

She shrugs, gets to her feet, and goes to the door. She opens it just enough to lean out and grab a few items, which she brings back in with her. One is a binder so thick it has to be a photo album, the other is clearly a laptop case. "It doesn't bother me. I mean, it does hurt, but I like talking about him. It helps keep my memories clear."

He's puzzled. "How'd you know I'd ask?"

"After what happened," she says, "I called my brother. We've been talking for the past few days. I brought these because I wanted to consult with you."

"How reassuring."

"Nothing bad," she promises. "Everything good."

Herc questions that, but not aloud.

She sets her burdens on the little table he eats and does paperwork at and gestures for him to join her. As he does so, she hands him the photo album. "Here. Go ahead and look through this while I set up and find the videos. The videos will convey his personality better, but the pictures will give you time to study him."

Herc doesn't want to study the face of a young man dead before his time while Herc, whose life is half over now, somehow keeps surviving. But he pages slowly through the album anyway, and in silence finally introduces himself to Jazmine's fiancé and the father of the boy who has simultaneously eased and reinforced Herc's pain over the loss of his own son. Herc already feels he owes some measure of debt for the comfort he enjoyed, even if it did end up causing so much trouble; most of that trouble has very little to do with Jazmine or Jason, who were merely catalysts for something that was already there.

Jazmine's fiancé seemed to be the sort who smiled or laughed often and appeared completely normal but for the cap and aviator's sunglasses he apparently wore _all_ the time. From what Herc can see of him, he was fit and handsome.

"Was he Australian?" Herc has assumed as much, but it's possible the kid was a transplant or wasn't local at all. Jazmine admitted that she goes to so much effort to teach Jason to speak with an Australian accent to help him fit in as he grows, but that could have been because Jazmine believes she won't be able to afford to leave the country until he's much older.

"Yes," she confirms, without glancing at him. "Bred, born, and raised."

"Is that your cap?"

She does look over then. "Huh? Oh. No, that was his."

Herc knows some things about America from the time he spent in the company of Americans while on one of the few brief overseas tours he served. Most of it is, naturally, linguistic idiosyncrasies, which the Americans had helpfully explained and which he had done in turn when one of them came to him with a question about Australian colloquialisms, but plenty of times he had picked up other information. For example, he knows that New York is the name of both a state and a large city within that state. He also knows that "Yankee" is a term some Americans use to identify others, but considering that all Americans are Yankees as far as Australians are concerned, he doesn't know the significance.

So, having been around for far too long to be embarrassed about asking questions, he says, "Then what are the New York Yankees?"

She blinks, then chuckles. "A baseball team."

Ah. "Baseball . . . That's the one that's like cricket, isn't it?"

"That's right. He didn't care—it was just part of his disguise. He wanted to keep a low profile, so I thought it'd be good cover if he seemed to be American. I came across that cap coincidentally and grabbed it."

Herc doesn't understand why the kid would have bothered, unless his family had been that uptight about him dating an American. Which is, honestly, an odd idea to Herc; he's never heard of anything like that except among obnoxiously over-patriotic bogans or the ridiculously wealthy. In any case, Jazmine's fiancé apparently wore the cap quite often even if he didn't care for it, since it's in every picture Herc looks at. The young man was in excellent physical condition, which makes perfect sense if he had been in the military or law enforcement, and his brown eyes—on the rare occasions that they can be seen over the rims of the sunglasses and beneath the shade of the cap's brim—were perpetually bright with good cheer as he looped an arm around Jazmine's shoulders or wrapped both arms around her and hugged her tightly.

Those qualities make the later pictures all the more meaningful—the way he cradled a newborn Jason with such care and gazed so intently at the baby's round pink face. He seemed to remain invested, for successive pictures document Jason's rapid growth but Jazmine's fiancé still laughed and smiled. He's in almost every picture, and it's clear that Jason recognized and loved him. In a few pictures Jazmine captured proof of her beloved's devotion, for even when he had been too tired to be good company he had nevertheless made sure to fall asleep with Jason in his arms. With his cap pulled down to block light and continue blocking full view of his face, of course.

"Looks like he was a good father," Herc says, then regrets it, because it's not his place to pass judgment on the kid—especially since he's dead.

Jazmine smiles slightly. "He was the best."

"He wore the cap indoors?"

"Not usually," she says with a glance at the album. "But all of those pictures I took either right after he arrived or right before he left my place. He'd get there and he'd be exhausted; if he had the energy he'd spend time with Jason before taking a nap, but if he didn't then he'd only be able to spend time with Jason before leaving. He wasn't very picturesque with his mouth hanging open, so those are part of my private collection. The nice ones made it into the album."

Herc frowns. "He slept?"

"His duties were very demanding, both physically and mentally, and he said he didn't sleep well on top of that because most of the time he didn't feel safe enough to sleep. When he did, he said it was only because he was with his father or me—he trusted us."

Herc is still puzzled. "He didn't live with you?"

She shakes her head. "No, I've pretty much always been in that duplex. I didn't need loads of space. He came and went—worked and lived with his father most days."

That's suspicious, and it annoys Herc. Jazmine is a good girl and Jason a treasure—they didn't deserve to have some selfish root rat wandering in and out of their lives while he knocked up a dozen other women. "That's a convenient story."

He shouldn't have opened his mouth. Jazmine's shoulders tighten and though she doesn't turn, her voice is a hiss when she says, "You didn't know him."

Herc, having stepped in it for the second time in as many minutes, promptly takes the out offered. "You're right, I didn't. It's none of my business."

She relaxes slightly and her voice quiets. "He texted me during the day, and almost every night he would either call me or we'd chat or vidcon online. We'd talk for hours sometimes. That's a lot of effort for a playboy to go to if he's merely trying to manage a harem."

Perhaps. Scott had successfully handled a number of women at once, though Herc is positive they had all known they were not his sole focus. They had been that sort of woman—the worst sort of jaeger flies who were only out for the fame of being attached to a jaeger pilot, for however long it would last. On the other hand, Scott had never been looking for a long-term relationship, so it worked out for all involved—the women got their prestige, and Scott always had a plus-one for the various dinners rangers were obligated to attend. "You and your baby deserve the best, that's all."

Jazmine smiles, and tilts her head to give him a glance. "He _was_ the best, like I said. Even," she adds, "if he _were_ a Don Juan, which I doubt. He was there for us financially, and as much as his job allowed personally."

"Then I'll have the wisdom to keep my mouth shut from now on," Herc assures her, despite his lingering misgivings. "Your happiness is what matters."

"Watch the videos," she tells him as she clicks open a media player. "Then you'll see."

Herc obediently abandons the photo album for the moment and focuses on a video that, from its less than stunning quality, was filmed with a mobile phone. It's of a hospital room, and though the background doesn't offer much more than that, the focus of the shot provides all the necessary context.

"I can't believe you're recording this," Jazmine's fiancé scolds, voice trembling. He's wearing his cap and sunglasses as usual. In his arms are the folds of a receiving blanket, and from time to time the pudgy face of an infant can be seen as either he or the baby moves the soft fabric around.

Herc feels his heart bottom out as he listens to the young man speak.

In the video, Jazmine laughs, then groans. "Haha— Ow . . . Don't make me laugh, dick. It hurts." After a moment of recovery, she replies, "If I didn't, we'd both regret it later. Since we didn't document the birth, this is the next best thing. Assuming I don't pass out from exhaustion."

Her fiancé snorts. "I notice this humiliates me and not you."

Herc doesn't know what he should feel, though the discovery explains so much of what he's gone through ever since moving into the duplex. That voice . . .

" _I've_ already been suitably humiliated," she counters. "I just had total strangers gawking at my privates."

"But they're _pretty_ privates!"

That voice is his son's voice.

"You've seen that many in your young life, have you?"

"More than my fair share, and not by choice. There are downsides to my job."

Jazmine laughs again, but shortly. "You're an idiot."

"Keep saying that, and one day I'm going to believe it."

Just . . . shock. Herc feels nothing else, his mind still and empty of anything but a sense of disbelief.

Chuck had gone behind his back, found a girlfriend, gotten her pregnant, attended the birth, and managed to bury all of that in the drift in such a way that he paid it no attention. Achieving that required a lack of some measure of guilt, since a guilty mind would focus on the topic in question. Or perhaps Herc mistook any memories that involved Jazmine as being leftovers from Scott because he had assumed he knew everything his son was up to. And as for not recognizing her, well, Herc had been trying to forget about those memories that he knew weren't his for a long time—before Chuck had died. Dismissing random memories of some girl he definitely didn't know at the time would have been an easy and completely forgettable event.

In the video, Chuck looks down at the baby he's holding—at Jason—and chokes softly. He frees one hand to wipe away the tears running over his cheeks.

Jazmine makes a noise of disgust and says, "You are so fucking adorable!"

He glares, but it lacks real heat. "I better not find this on the internet."

"Fuck no!" is the vehement vow. "Like hell I'm letting the world see you like this! You're _mine_ , you sweet bastard, and I don't share."

Herc wants to ask what the hell is going on, but the video isn't over and he can't bring himself to interrupt it. Careful to avoid anything on television that might relate to the PPDC, he hasn't heard his son's voice for months; though Chuck's drift phantom is in his head, it hasn't 'spoken' a word since Chuck died. Herc knows it's something he caused to happen, but he hasn't wanted to fix it. So he stays quiet, and just watches and listens. He sees Chuck's joy become shadowed.

"I wish . . . I wish my dad was here."

It's a one-two punch to the heart and gut. Herc, too, wishes he'd been there, and doesn't understand how so much could have happened that he just hadn't been privy to. He'd never imagined the drift could allow something of such import to go unnoticed.

Or maybe it hadn't, and Herc had just avoided it because the flashes of such memories would have made him assume they were his and not something he wanted to revisit during a drop. Because in that case it would have meant seeing his wife again, then seeing the event that killed her again when _that_ memory was triggered as a result.

He can accept the latter possibility more, as it makes far more sense.

"I told you to tell him," is Jazmine's gentle rebuke.

"I know, I know," Chuck acknowledges, miserable. "But . . . I'm nineteen. If he knew about this it'd only stack more stress on top of what he's already staggering under. He'd think he fucked up. And the fact is, we know we're fine. This was an accident, but it wasn't us being stupid."

"Barring 'having any sort of sex out of wedlock' being considered stupid," she points out. "You _will_ tell him soon, right?"

Chuck nods. "Yeah. If he doesn't learn on his own, with the drift and all. I want him to meet you, and I know he'd want to be close to Jason. I just need to figure out how to convince him that I can handle this. If I don't do it right we'll end up arguing, like usual."

It helps to hear that Chuck didn't tell Herc because he wanted to be prepared to explain himself and avoid an argument, not because he hadn't believed his father would tolerate his indiscretion.

Jazmine snorts. "I'd like you to convince _me_ , you know."

He responds with a wounded look. "I said I'd take care of you."

She sighs. "There's more to it than financial support, idiot."

Chuck tightens his hold on baby Jason, but doesn't shout. "I know. And I'll be there. Perhaps not as often as we might like, but once Dad knows maybe you can come live with us—"

"And expose Jason to the cults?" Jazmine interrupts, her voice a whip-crack of aggression.

Chuck closes his mouth.

"I don't abide by that 'I might die, so please have my baby' thing," she snaps. "I heard that enough from the boys in school, or from girls repeating what boys had told them. It's a manipulation tactic, plain and simple. It's also rude, if true, because it ends in abandonment. But this is different. I still don't think it's a good idea, but I'll do it for you. But since I _am_ doing it, I'm going to take it all the way. And I'm telling you right now—I didn't carry this baby for nine months, endure morning sickness and bloating and mood swings, and give birth to him just to watch über-religious twats use him in a ritual sacrifice to the universal unknowns that they fear so.

"You are a target," she reminds him. "Your father is a target. If anyone finds out Jason is your son, _he_ will be a target. I know you don't want that."

Defeated, Chuck nods.

"We can make arrangements," she adds, "but we'll have to be careful. You and your father would have to disguise yourselves every time."

"Da won't like that," Chuck muses, using for Herc the form of address that was at its height when Chuck was still in single digits. It was a subtle leftover from the trauma of Scissure's attack which Chuck had always been embarrassed by, and the fact that he slipped in front of Jazmine yet didn't seem to notice said volumes about how much he trusted her.

"I already have a few ideas," Jazmine says. "I'll take care of the planning. And if your father doesn't like it, that's fine—he doesn't have to participate. But he won't see Jason in person. Ever."

Chuck winces. "I just said he wouldn't like it, not that he wouldn't do it."

"Whatever. That's the alternative. I never intended to have kids, Chuck. Now that I have one, I'm not going to let those nine months of my life be for nothing."

"I get it."

Herc does as well. And approves. He's come to like Jazmine anyway, but knowing that she places such value on a child—on his grandson—strengthens that fondness. Jason may have been unintended, but Chuck's choice in who he would have such an accident with is a good one.

Surprisingly or not, the reality of it is calming.

Because it's Chuck. It's always been Chuck. And with that understanding comes clarity.

Scott certainly chased women of all sorts—he'd never been very picky if they were willing to spread their legs for him. Still, he'd drawn the line firmly at single mothers, because he hadn't cared for children. He hadn't even wanted his own, so he was meticulous about using and disposing of condoms. Which made his fondness for Chuck odd, but Herc had always dismissed it as an "Oh, what a cute toy. Can I play with him for a bit? Okay, you can take him back now" situation. Or it may have just been that Scott hadn't liked _young_ children, which Chuck hadn't been at the time they'd most been around each other. In any case, Jazmine is young and attractive, but Jason's presence would have been a big turn-off. Even at his worst Scott would have just ignored her, because he would never have been the center of her world.

The possessiveness that alarmed Herc so was really in word only; the accompanying feelings are gentle and warm and in hindsight always have been—fierce to him, in his heart, but loving and protective in act. The behaviors of a man who knows what he has and refuses to lose it. While Chuck wasn't in too many relationships—if any, other than the one with Jazmine—he would nevertheless have picked up from Herc the ability to recognize when he had something good.

Then, naturally, because of how he lost his mother, he would want those he loved to be as protected as possible, so he took the precaution of signing his money over to support them even after his death. After that, his drift phantom recognized them and tried to entrust them to Herc. Quickly, too, because it must have been aware of just how close to the edge Herc was, but it pushed so hard the effort had backfired. Almost fatally. And that kind of intensity was always typical of Chuck.

Herc dismissed the influence as being Chuck's because he was well aware of what lay beneath his son's biting exterior—the gentleness most would never guess he had—but that headstrong front was a part of Chuck too. A very valid part.

He turns to Jazmine, still stunned. "That's Chuck . . . That's my son."

She closes the video window and looks at him. Her expression says it all.

"You _knew_?"

She shakes her head. "Not until the other day. I told you I called my brother and we talked. At first he was really worried about you, so he asked me for whatever information I could offer about your condition. Once I told him everything I knew, he wanted to know about Jason. Of course, it came around to Jason's father. I was able to be more open with Raleigh since I knew his background, so I told him Jason's father had been a ranger. He wanted a name, but all I could give him was Chuck's given name. He showed me pictures." Her chin wobbles and her eyes grow glassy, but she gets it under control. "Raleigh told me you're Chuck's father."

There's so much Herc wants to ask, but he isn't sure he'll be able to actually give voice to the questions, and even if he does he isn't sure he has the brain capacity to process the answers. But one thing does jump to the fore. ". . . You said I didn't know him."

"You don't. Not as a lover," she replies. "Or a father."

True enough. So he says next, "What other videos do you have?"

If she thinks it an odd question compared to a request to see Jason, she doesn't say. She just refocuses on her computer.

The second video he sees—also taken by phone, it seems, as so many videos are in the modern day—shows Jason, a few months old, spread out on a grass-green play blanket.

"I have carpet in my unit," Jazmine murmurs. "We didn't need the damn blanket. But he wanted Jason to have it. Just to nap on, he said. It _is_ much softer. And he got a green one because we didn't take Jason outside much, and he thought we should at least provide a grass substitute." She snorts.

The view pulls back to show Chuck, finally sans hat and sunglasses, on the floor just beyond the blanket's edge. His arms are folded under his chin. He's smiling at Jason, who's flailing slowly on the blanket and apparently trying to cross the distance between them.

When Jason pauses, Chuck chides kindly, "You're going to have to do a little better than that, mate."

As if in response, Jason does more flailing, with more energy. He isn't making much progress, so Chuck crawls forward a little, closing the distance by half. Jason succeeds in traversing the shortened space and reaches out to grab Chuck's face with both hands.

" _Da_!" he announces, far louder than necessary.

Chuck twitches and rolls onto his side with a theatrical cry of, "Oh, you got me!"

Jason squeals, giggles, and swats his cheek.

"Ow."

Jazmine, presumably the camera handler, laughs.

The video is edited; it skips to show that Chuck, no doubt exhausted by one of _Striker Eureka_ 's required watches, has fallen asleep on his side. Jason has also fallen asleep, sprawled over his father's head. Jazmine moves in close to get details of the endearing vision. Chuck's eyes open, and before he even gets out a calm, "Boo," she jumps. He grins. "Gotcha."

"Go back to sleep," she tells him softly.

"I can't. I've tried. My neck hurts too much."

"How long have you been lying there like that?"

Chuck checks his watch. Carefully, so as to not disturb the baby. "'Bout a half-hour, I reckon."

"You should've said something."

"I didn't want to bother him."

Jazmine snorts.

The video skips again. Chuck is sitting upright now, a still-sleeping Jason held against his chest, one hand easily spanning the infant's small back. It makes him look that much more a man, nineteen or not. He's gazing up at Jazmine, but his attention is elsewhere. After a few seconds, he focuses and smiles.

"Having fun, are you?" she prompts.

He simply nods.

"You look like you're thinking about another."

"I think we can handle it," he tells her with confidence.

"Great," she says. "You let me know when you're ready to be pregnant, because I expect to be given some time first to forget how annoying and painful it was to have a parasite swimming around in my gut."

Chuck wrinkles his nose. "That's a horrible thing to say."

"Babies _are_ parasites, you moron. They take life energy from their mothers and give back nothing in return except waste products that have to be disposed of or they poison her blood. They can chemically irritate their mothers' physiology so that the mothers produce more nutrition for them. Everything about them puts stress on their mothers' bodies and provides no return benefit. That is the very definition of a parasitic relationship, according to the scientific community."

"Then why have them?"

"What, did you think orgasms and love have no purpose beyond entertainment?"

Chuck snorts and makes the mistake of saying, "'Love' is just a four-letter word."

Herc wants to reach through the computer monitor and smack the little beast he sired. That isn't the sort of statement a man should use to make himself seem tough or superior, or to counter the very true remark that babies are, scientifically, viewed as perfect parasites. It's also clear—to Herc, anyway—by Chuck's expression, his interest in more children, and his easy use of the word 'we' that he's quite smitten with Jazmine, so making a comment of that sort can pave the way for trouble.

Fortunately, instead of getting angry about it, Jazmine simply says, "Hey, guess what?"

"What?"

"So is 'fuck.'"

Chuck blinks and his brows draw as he attempts to understand her meaning. He fails. ". . . What the hell is that—" Then it clicks, and he gets inappropriately offended. "Oï!"

" _Exactly_ ," Jazmine snarls.

He pouts.

"I'm glad you like children. Everyone should have the chance to be with the people they're most like."

" _Oï_."

"When you employ a double standard, you ignorant bastard, I'm going to call you on it."

"Love and sex are two different things!"

"Not when you're trying to have kids, dickhead! You have no right to bring children into a world devoid of affection! It's the most irresponsible thing a person could do!"

Chuck lowers his head, chastised. "Fine."

" _FINE_?" That time, Jazmine sounds truly angry. She sets the phone on a countertop, bringing one of her eyes—focused elsewhere, presumably on Chuck—and the top of her head into the shot briefly. "Give me my baby and get your arrogant ass out my door." She leaves the edge of the screen.

"What?" Chuck says, sounding startled. "No!"

"Yes! Give him to me and _go_!"

" _No_!"

" _Yes_! If that's how you're going to talk then you don't deserve a child of your own! If love means nothing to you, then he'll be better off not knowing his father doesn't give a damn about him!"

The confrontation goes on for another minute, with their voices receding a little bit at a time as Chuck gives ground to Jazmine's aggression. Finally, sounding panicked, he admits defeat.

"I'm sorry! All right?! I'm sorry—it was a stupid thing to say! I wasn't thinking! It was a bad joke!"

Silence follows.

"You need to start being very, very careful," Jazmine hisses. "Children take things _very_ literally. You can't go staggering through life hoping that people will tolerate your awkwardness anymore. At the very _least_ , you need to learn to apologize _clearly_ so that a child will understand it."

Chuck's voice is so quiet the phone can't pick it up properly, but it sounds like he's apologizing again.

"Thank you for understanding my concern," Jazmine answers, calm. "I know you can do this, I just wasn't sure you knew you had to start _now_. Get in some practice."

The video ends there and Herc asks, "You keep that one?"

"I don't want to pretend we had an ideal relationship," Jazmine explains. "It would weaken the intensity of the times that _were_ ideal. And I don't want Jason to think that we did, either. These videos are as much for him as me. I want him to understand that no one is perfect, and that's okay. You can work around it, get past it."

"He held on to Jason the whole time?"

She smiles. "Absolutely would not let go."

She's clearly proud, and Herc understands. Is glad. Jazmine recognizes how important it is that Chuck had clung so tenaciously to Jason and refused to leave—had, in the end, sacrificed his pride and apologized to the point of begging to make up for his error. Some might have called Jazmine's tactic cruel or manipulative, but Herc is intimately familiar with his son's stubbornness; he knows that making Chuck aware of thoughtless statements—and then dragging a genuine apology from him—had more or less required over-the-top responses.

"Another?" she asks.

He nods.

The video she chooses shows Jason clad in a onesie, sitting on his "grass" blanket on the vinyl floor of her kitchen. He's much bigger than in the previous videos—somewhere around a year old. He's playing with a few toys. Quietly, as though he understands the necessity, since Chuck has fallen asleep half on and half off the blanket, one hand clasping one of Jason's toys. He must have attempted to join in but hadn't managed to stay conscious.

Jason looks at him, then says in a voice that's loud in the quiet house, "Dada."

Chuck doesn't so much as twitch.

Jason lifts his left arm, the one nearest Chuck, and throws the toy he has onto his father's head as hard as he possibly can. The toy is made of thin, hollow rubber and squeaks as it bounces off Chuck's cheekbone. Chuck snorts sleepily, startled by the impact but not feeling threatened, and Jazmine laughs.

"Dada!" Jason says again.

Chuck looks, disoriented, from Jazmine to Jason. When he determines the situation isn't critical, he takes the time to stretch. "Whazzit?"

Jason crawls closer to him, and when Chuck lifts his head Jason wraps tiny arms around it.

"Aw," Jazmine croons.

Chuck is similarly charmed, and lets go of Jason's toy to return the hug and press his face gently into his son's abdomen. "Thanks, buddy," he murmurs, voice muffled by the fluffy onesie. "I needed that."

"You should go take a nap," Jazmine advises.

" _No_!" Jason protests, clearly in distress, obviously thinking the comment had been aimed at him.

Chuck withdraws enough to check his watch. "I guess so . . ." He pulls away from Jason completely and gets to his knees before he reaches for the boy. "Come on, Jay—it's Daddy's naptime too."

"Again," Jazmine puts in.

"Quiet, you," Chuck scolds, without heat. He lifts Jason to his shoulder and gets to his feet, then heads for the hall. Jazmine follows.

Chuck places Jason on the bed in Jazmine's room and the boy grasps at his hand. "Dada!"

Chuck looks at him blankly. "What?"

"He wants you to drag him around on the mattress," Jazmine explains.

"Oh."

So Chuck sits on the bed, takes Jason's hands, and does so. Jason is thrilled and squeals his excitement. But it doesn't last long; Chuck slowly begins to slump and lets out a yawn.

"Okay," Jazmine announces, "fun time over. Naptime now."

Chuck doesn't argue. He uses his grip on Jason to pull the boy close while he tips over onto the mattress. It's as far as he gets. Jazmine is the one who has to lift his legs onto to the bed and cover him and Jason up.

"Wake me in an hour," Chuck mumbles, without opening his eyes. "Want to eat with you. Talk."

"About what?" Jazmine asks, puzzled.

"Anything."

"You should sleep, Chuck."

"You need hugs too."

Jazmine is silent for a bit, then says quietly, "I guess that's true." She runs her hand from his shoulder down his arm to his elbow, which she pats twice. "Fine. Two hours."

Chuck's brows draw as though in disapproval, but he doesn't seem to have the energy to argue.

The video ends there and Herc looks at Jazmine. "Was he normally like that?"

"Oh yes. For the whole first year and a month or so of Jason's life."

"He seemed fine with me."

She snorts. "That's because you were as exhausted as he was and slept just as often and deeply. I'm sure he visited me a lot more than you realize, because he would have left and returned before you ever woke up."

It does coincide with _Striker Eureka_ 's launch and fulltime watch, which required far more time and energy than training. Actual jaegers had 'weight' to their operation that simulators didn't or simply couldn't replicate, and long dry runs in the drift meant a larger and longer influx of one's copilot's memories and emotions and whatever else, an occurrence that was irrespective of the initial familiarity between copilots. Typically, heavy sleep followed, which J-science had assumed was the brain's preferred coping mechanism for the psychological exhaustion. It did seem to pass at speeds dependent on compatibility, but _always_ happened.

Still, Herc had gone through that with Scott, before Chuck had even entered the Jaeger Academy. Surely his brain would have been used to the strain and adapted. "I was jockeying long before he was, though."

"It resets with new copilots," she tells him. "Or that's what I have to assume, anyway. When I asked Chuck about what he told you so that you didn't know what he was up to, he said that he didn't have to because most of the time you were asleep. 'Comatose' is the word I recall him using."

Herc blinks. "News to me."

"He got better," Jazmine says. "He did still sleep right after he arrived or right before he left, but it was just a brief nap, and he'd wake up on his own."

"Did you really wake him up?"

"I almost didn't, so I ended up giving him three hours." She sighs. "I wanted to talk to him. At the time, he was giving Jason most of his attention, and I was okay with that—Jason needed him more than I did."

Herc fully understands what she isn't saying; he'd already had it "explained" to him years ago by his less than tolerant wife. "Couples need to make time for each other."

"I was feeling a little . . . disconnected," she admits.

"Left out."

She nods. "Neither of us was really paying the other attention—we were both focused on what was best for Jason because we agreed that his development needed the stability of our devotion. But for me, it got to the point where I felt . . . I felt as though a stranger was walking into my home. I didn't like that. For a long time we barely said a word to each other that didn't involve Jason. We saw each other regularly, and I was glad he was all right, but we were still lonely. When he was more or less recovered from the exhaustion, he'd play hard enough to wear Jason out, and once Jason was asleep we'd put him in his room for a nap and have time for ourselves. He'd spend more time with Jason before leaving. It helped a lot."

Herc feels a sudden streak of anxiety. "Were you all right?"

Jazmine blinks. "I was fine. Why?"

Herc hesitates and explores his distress. When he's confident of the explanation he says, "I think . . . I think Chuck was worried. That you felt neglected."

"Maybe a little, at first," she admits, "but not by the end. Like I told you, he went to a lot of effort to keep our relationship in good shape. The only thing that I would have preferred," she concedes gently, "is the one thing I know he wouldn't have budged on."

Herc figures out she'd probably wanted Chuck to quit being a ranger. After Yancy's death and Raleigh's departure, Jazmine doubtless didn't want to lose anyone else. Still, she'd met Chuck and dared to hold her heart out once more, and fate—if there was such a thing—had firmly trampled her trust into the dirt. It's no wonder she has a few screws loose.

There's a knock on the door. Herc doesn't bother to respond, since there's a big observation window along the same wall; unless he's in the restroom or until after someone says goodnight and turns the ward lights off, he's been careful to not do anything he might regret getting caught at. He's already told Raleigh to not bother knocking, but Raleigh told him it was a courtesy, because isolation room or not, it's still Herc's private space. Herc apparently wasn't able to explain that there is no such thing as privacy when there's a huge window in the wall of his room, and no amount of special consideration is going to change that.

The door opens a moment later and Mako steps in, Jason in arm. Herc's heart flips with excitement, and the feeling seems to be mutual because when Jason sees him the toddler begins to struggle and reach for him.

"Daddy!"

Part of Herc cringes to hear that term directed at him when it doesn't apply. Still, he gets to his feet to take the boy. He has to now, he believes, but there's really nothing alarming about that anymore.

As Mako relinquishes Jason to him, it occurs to him that perhaps Jason doesn't merely assume Herc's his father because Herc is the only man he can remember seeing regularly in Jazmine's unit, but that something about the way Herc's been treating him reminds him of Chuck. Herc's been dwelling on his responses to and treatment of Jazmine, but he knows there were less dramatic moments where he knew things about Jason's wants and needs that he really couldn't have without knowing the toddler for longer than a few months. So perhaps it's those things that made Jason think essentially, "like Daddy, so must be Daddy." Either way, he's going to have to do something about the mistaken identity, but for the moment it's of no concern. In the meantime, he can pretend Jason thinks calling him "Granddaddy" is just too difficult.

Herc looks at Jason with new eyes, sees Chuck in every centimeter of the toddler's tiny face, and in one fell swoop is brought to his metaphorical knees. The tears come, and he can't make them stop.

A few of them are shed in mourning of Chuck's growing up—that there's proof he hadn't been a child for some time. But mostly they're shed in relief and joy that Herc still has someone with whom he shares blood; that Chuck managed to find time to start a family of his own, an experience Herc had not been certain he would ever get the chance to have.

Herc holds Jason against him and revels in the spark of life that is his grandson. For the first time in quite a while, he feels he has something to live for.

* * *

Since he was never truly locked inside the isolation room, Herc is able to leave freely when Jason tells his mother that he's hungry. Jazmine offers to take Jason, but Herc—somewhat petulantly, to his surprise—refuses to hand the toddler over. She seems to take it well and instead grabs the photo album. Other than insisting on a quick detour to wash in a restroom, she simply accompanies him to the sparsely populated mess hall, where she grabs two trays and serves herself and him. He follows her to an unoccupied table separated from everyone else so they'll have some privacy, and sits in front of the tray she sets down for him. He settles, arranges Jason in his lap, and proceeds to watch the toddler pick through his food, only intervening if he thinks the boy might be sticking something too big to swallow into his mouth.

"Oh, is that how it is?" Jazmine deadpans as she pushes the photo album out of the potential range of flung food and spilled drinks. "Here, then . . ." She fits their trays together and forks a small quantity of her tray's contents onto Herc's. "That's for him."

Jason shares at least a measure of his father's ambition—it seems like Herc is having to take away every other bit of food and cut it down. So Herc just cuts up the contents of his tray and leaves the kid to it. Satisfied that his grandson won't choke while he isn't looking, he focuses on Jazmine and makes an admittedly vague request as he picks blindly at a portion of his tray where Jason's attention isn't. "Tell me more."

She blinks and cocks her head in thought. After a while, she says, ". . . Well, where should I start?"

The question is probably rhetorical, but Herc knows the answer anyway. One starts at the beginning, for context and clarity. "How did you meet him?"

She nods. "We were at a coffee shop in Sydney, just off the beach. I remember seeing him when he came in—he was angry about something. It was a small place and the tables were full. He looked around, then came to my table, asked if I was waiting for anyone, and when I said I wasn't he sat down."

Herc sighs. It's typical Chuck. He hated it when his space was intruded on but still felt free to intrude on that of others. It was a miracle he even asked if the seat was taken.

"I wasn't in the best place either," she admits. "It was the anniversary of a bad moment in my life—my brother's death. I was already stuck here because I'd been visiting my aunt and her family; a kaiju fell on the house while I was out, killed them, and melted all of my ID. The American consulate wasn't doing a damn thing to help, so I was already less than patient, then that day came around. We both sat there and brooded with our drinks. After about ten minutes, he asked me why I wasn't nagging him. I didn't actually recognize him because I didn't follow the PPDC, but I told him I had concerns more pressing than worrying about some stranger's happiness. I decided to leave and he decided to follow me.

"That first interaction went badly. All we did was argue. But . . ." She shakes her head and looks down at the table. ". . . we kept running into each other during the following weeks. It's odd, but we'd . . . just sit together and not talk. Sometimes we'd comment on some news event, but usually we simply sat there. I had nothing to say to him, and he seemed to be okay with that. After about a month, he asked me out to supper. I told him that I didn't have anything special to wear, so he took me to a fast-food place. We talked a little more, but still nothing like what others might call 'normal.'"

"He was testing you," Herc says, and she refocuses on him.

"Apparently. And that was probably why we kept going to fast-food places when we ate—they're as public as they are informal. The fourth or fifth time we ate out, a bunch of tweens came over and asked for his autograph. The way they were squealing made the source of his fame clear, though I never heard his full name. He humored them, then gave me this _look_." She snorts. "He was disappointed by my lack of interest until I explained that both my brothers had been rangers, so the novelty had worn off long before I'd met him."

She tilts her head. "Our relationship took off after that, comparatively. We still hardly talked, but we both understood each other better." Her head dips slightly as her gaze drops once more. "Rangers are people, so they like company, but sometimes, in my experience, they just need the world to stop for a while and let them work things out. I guess I satisfied that need for him.

"That's why I didn't make the connection between you and him," she says as she looks at him again. "We didn't ask about each other's lives. He never learned my family's names or even what part of America I come from, and I didn't interview him like every other idiot has. I knew him by his given name, and that was all. We got along fine as we were—it just wasn't important."

Herc can accept that, even if he's not sure he understands it. Chuck _had_ been quiet, for all his shouting and bluster in public. Most people—people who had not spent a lot of time around him, whom he hadn't felt comfortable around—would not know that. "And Jason?"

"An accident," she admits. "I wasn't on birth control because I couldn't afford it—I don't qualify for the Australian healthcare system—and his visits were so infrequent that it wasn't worth budgeting for. He was using condoms, but . . . one of them didn't last the whole game." She scowls at the far wall. "The dickhead didn't tell me that until _after_ I'd had a meltdown about it, wondering if I was one of those people who has sex while they sleep and had let a total stranger get me pregnant. Asshole."

She sighs through her nose and adds, "I wasn't ready for a baby. We'd known each other for about two years by then, so it wasn't him—it was that I'd just started my business and wanted time and space to work and get an empire going. Get some money saved up for a few rainy days. But it _is_ a work-from-home job, so overhead is low and profit is high, and when he asked me to keep Jason and promised to take care of us as long as he lived so I could save my money like I wanted . . ." She drops her head and groans. "I am the sappiest sap _EVER_."

That worries Herc. "He didn't?"

She smiles, faint and bittersweet. "No, he definitely did."

Herc feels a wash of relief. It was always difficult to tell which parts of Chuck's existence were stagnated by the trauma of losing his mother and what parts had found a way to mature.

"He'd tell me when he had leave coming up so I could keep my schedule clear and we could spend some time together. Jason managed to hang on for him—held out a week past my due date just so he could be there for us." Her smile strengthens and she looks into Herc's eyes. "He was a good father. Always interested. I thought at first that the novelty would wear off and I'd find myself the sole caretaker of his guilty conscience, but . . . he was there. In fact, if I mentioned Jason getting a checkup and he was about to go on leave, he'd insist that I reschedule it so he could go along."

Herc frowns slightly and shakes his head. "I can't believe this never made it into the media."

She chuckles. "Neither of us wanted things aired out, so we agreed I'd be his cousin. He was tagging along for support. Since he wasn't always with us for every doctor's visit or trip out, it worked."

Still, Herc would have thought Chuck's 'cousin' would have been brought to his attention by one journalist or another. "Even when Jason was born?"

"We were very _close_ cousins. When my boyfriend bailed on me after discovering my pregnancy, it was my favorite cousin who kept my chin up."

That makes more sense, but . . . "I would've thought anyone associated with him would be harassed."

"Well, he disguised himself physically also," Jazmine said. "Contacts to make his eyes brown, the Yankees ball cap, clothes unlike his normal wardrobe, and an American accent allowed him to go unnoticed. It was an awful accent, honestly, but I figure only an American or a linguist—or a high-quality actor—would have noticed. Being his cousin was the last line of defense, just in case. I mean, any idiot could understand why he might want to be in disguise sometimes."

Jazmine reaches out to the album and flips through a few big pages. "Here," she says. "These are all him. I like my space as much as he did, so if I'm cuddling with some guy who doesn't look like him but who has an arm around me, it's him. We didn't let anyone else hold Jason, either, so those would be him too."

Herc looks at the pictures with wiser eyes. Even knowing that they're Chuck, he initially has a hard time picking out his son. He just can't reconcile Chuck's blue eyes and military-chic wardrobe with the über-casual jeans and printed tee-shirts the brown-eyed young man in the pictures is wearing. "I suppose you dressed him?"

"I had to. He initially insisted on choosing his own American wardrobe. Out of curiosity, I let him. _God_. Fortunately, I was with him at the time, so he didn't waste his money." She shakes her head. "You know, it stuns me, the way the world can assume that all Americans are filthy rich, but when asked how we dress will consistently pick out coveralls and wife-beaters. Or sweats." She snorts. "Imagine his surprise to discover that most Americans his age dress approximately the same way most Australians his age dress."

Well, she's definitely American, to worry so much about what the world thinks of her, right or wrong. And Herc seriously doubts such a large quantity of people give a damn about how Americans dress; Chuck certainly never had, which explained his unpreparedness, and his pride would have made him resist asking for advice. "I don't think anyone puts that much thought into it," he tells her, and is certain of that, at least.

Finally, Herc starts seeing his son in the photos. It requires the intimate knowledge, however, gained from watching him grow up and sharing a home with him. Herc first recognizes facial structure; he hasn't seen Chuck smile so much since his wife's death, so expression fails to be a clue in most of the pictures. After that it's the way the young man carries himself—an even stance, battle-ready, but a little hard to see because Jazmine's stance is in a similar balance, so his looks less out of place. When he's without the ball cap, Herc instantly recognizes him by the style of his hair. Profile is another hint.

Herc stares at each image, burns them into his memory. It's been so long since he's seen Chuck . . . He's gone to so much effort to avoid any visual reminder . . . And those smiles are a side of Chuck he'd rarely seen. He's seeing his son again, but also seeing his son as a father. A wonderful father, too—doubtless more affectionate than Herc had been with him. But there's one thing he doesn't understand.

"Why didn't you ever come find me?"

Jazmine blinks and her eyes grow slightly glassy with a thin sheen of tears. "I heard the Breach had been sealed and I thought he'd come home. Then I heard he'd died and _Striker Eureka_ had been completely destroyed and . . . He'd told me once that you and he were copilots, so when I heard about the jaeger I assumed you'd died too. I did everything I could to avoid news about the PPDC after that. If I'd known you were alive I would've contacted you ages ago."

Herc shakes his head as reality reminds him of its presence. "I don't know that I would've believed you, now that I think of it. When I got back here, there were dozens of girls your age telling me they were Chuck's wife or girlfriend. Half of them had kids. You would've been just one more of the lot."

It was a nightmare. Obviously hoping to be taken at their words without Chuck present to confirm or deny their stories, women descended on Herc in a swarm of tears and pleas for money. He'd possessed the benefit, however, of knowing Chuck better than them—that his son had been far too exhausted and introverted to be a partier or Casanova, despite the front the kid routinely put up and the habits of more extroverted rangers. Herc felt for the ones who may have truly needed the financial support, but had refused to go to the trouble of picking out one to care for; he hadn't been even marginally certain of his own future then, suicide still as prominent in his thoughts as it had been in Hong Kong.

Instead, his lawyer friend Darryl rushed to his rescue, cheerfully taking down personal information and then assuring the young women that someone would be in contact to arrange for a paternity test. The worst of that mess dried up quite quickly then, but part of the reason Herc moved out of his home had been to get away from the letters begging for help or threatening legal action and name-smearing if he didn't send checks to various post office boxes, which were—conveniently for the accusers—more difficult to trace than a physical address.

Jazmine shrugs. "A paternity test would've proven your connection to Jason."

For him to escape the liars only to end up moving in next to the girl who was his son's _real_ love . . . Either Chuck or God Himself had been fiddling with those wires. "I wouldn't have wasted my time."

She smiles wanly. "You would've if I'd gone to court and publicly accused you of fathering my child and abandoning us."

Herc blinks.

"You think I hadn't considered that?" She snorts. "Chuck kept putting off telling you—I suppose hoping you'd pick it up in the drift and mention it so he didn't have to—so I made plans for that. Even if he'd lived, I knew a thousand women would come screaming for him. And if he'd died and you'd survived, you'd be suspicious of me, and rightfully so. A paternity test would solve the problem. If you were resistant, I'd force the issue legally. Not to get money from you, but to let you know. Chuck took care of Jason and me like he promised, and between what I was able to save and the fact that the world isn't going to end, business is looking good. If I continue to not buy what we don't need, there will be enough saved to ensure that Jason gets a good start in life."

Something that his mind glossed over an hour ago finally clicks into place. ". . . Chuck's money . . . Is your attorney Evelyn Callaghan?"

Jazmine nodded. "I wasn't sure I was going to take it, but when his death was confirmed I figured you were gone too, like I said. I decided I should grab it before it was gobbled up by taxes or inactivity fees or something. If I'd known you were alive I wouldn't have touched it."

Herc shakes his head. "I don't need the money like you do. I don't have your expenses, and without a child to look after there are plenty of opportunities for jobs. If you need anything—"

"I don't need anything from you." Jazmine's gaze is steady. "Is that clear? Jason is your grandson and you are free to dote on him, but I will never ask for anything that I'm not willing to repay you for. I am an adult and I was raised to see to my own needs. Jason's existence is between me and Chuck, and your participation in his life is always up to you."

"I want to be here," Herc says immediately. He doesn't need to think about it.

He's lost his wife. He's lost his brother. He's lost his son. Jason is the only one left.

Jazmine nods and gets to her feet to take up her empty tray. Herc stares at her stomach as it comes more or less into his line of sight, and as she passes him he catches her hand to hold her still. A lump wedges in his throat. He pulls her closer, wraps his arms around her no longer trim waist, and rests his head against her swollen abdomen. He doesn't care who's in the mess hall to witness it. He doesn't care because Jason is _not_ the only one left. There's one more to think of. To plan for.

Another little boy, or perhaps a little girl.

In an effort to seem unbiased, a lot of people swear they just want a healthy baby even when they do want a boy to carry on the family name or a girl they can dress up like a living doll. As a young man Herc never put a lot of thought into children, assuming he'd get around to having them eventually and that he'd worry about sexes at that time, if it ever came up. Then Chuck came along and Herc was overwhelmed by the simple fact of the presence of the tiny creature he had helped create. But in retrospect he can admit to anyone that yes, he'd wanted a boy more than a girl—at least for one round—mainly because he'd felt he would associate better that way. And that was fine.

At this moment, however, with his only child gone, the sexes of his grandchildren matter less than not at all. He really does just want them healthy, because they're two of a kind—their father is dead and there will never be any more like them. In one awful moment they'd become amongst the rarest of breeds, and what's important going forward is sustaining that uniqueness, in whatever form it comes.

* * *

 **To Be Continued in . . .** **Chapter 5** **– The Father's Memories**

His conviction soothes Chuck's drift phantom. It unfurls a little and comes forward, and draws his attention to a folder labeled simply 'New Folder.' It had never been named, so Herc had initially ignored it. But now he clicks it open and finds a single video file.

'Dad'

Herc doesn't want to open it. It's been one thing to watch videos where Chuck is focused on other people, behaving unusually enough that Herc can immerse himself in a side of his son he's never met and put aside the fact that Chuck is dead. But a file addressed to him can't possibly mean anything good, if only in the context of Herc's heart and remaining sanity.

Perhaps nudged by Chuck's drift phantom, Herc clicks the file open anyway.

* * *

 **Answers To Questions You Didn't Even Know You Wanted To Ask:**

 _… except among obnoxiously over-patriotic_ _bogans …_

A bogan is, in essence, white trash. By and large, the same stereotypes apply.

—

If you find this fic to be somewhat fine, please take the time to drop me a line!

~RN (LS)


	5. The Father's Memories

**Word Count:** 9,697 ( **Total:** 44,551)

 **Rating:** T for language and some light sexual situations (all clothing stays on, but those who are squeamish about age gaps beware)

 **Date Submitted:** 2/2/18

* * *

 **Chapter 5** **– The Father's Memories**

* * *

Herc has only ever used Chuck's login for the PPDC's cloud once, and that was strictly to empty out his son's laptop before formatting it and gifting the relatively new piece of technology to a friend's ten-year-old for school work. He never actually looked at anything, figuring he would do it one day in the future when it didn't hurt so much. Well, it's the future, but it still hurts. But Herc is curious.

Chuck always possessed an artistic bent; nothing intense, that would have driven him to follow that path professionally, but enough that he wrote a few short stories and did some idle sketches and took _lots_ of pictures. His mother would've loved it if he'd become a photographer, though Herc isn't sure Chuck had been all that interested except as a hobby. But that might have only been because of the kaiju. With Chuck's connections and knowledge, photographing the post-war devastation might have been a good way to begin a new life—easing from the old into the new by documenting the remnants of what had been. It's not actually that hard for Herc to also imagine Chuck as a professional photographer, really.

What Herc is hoping to find is a stash of pictures or videos that will tell Chuck's side of his relationship with Jazmine. Herc doesn't doubt for a moment his son's affection for Jazmine or Jason, but he has little to go on beyond Jazmine's perspective. Chuck's drift phantom is totally silent in his head on the topic, apparently hoarding the memories somewhere beyond his reach.

Once he has access to Chuck's files, however, he draws a massive blank. Considering Jazmine's firmness and the real threat of hacking by the BuenaKai, Chuck wouldn't have made any such files easy to identify. But Herc has no idea how to even begin looking for them.

His finger hits the 'J' key twice.

Herc looks down at his hand, the keyboard, then up at the monitor and search bar where the double letter is displayed. He shrugs and presses "enter."

Apparently, Chuck didn't keep any proof of his relationship with Jazmine prior to becoming aware of her pregnancy, because that's where the pictures begin. She often looked grumpy then, even when she wasn't showing much, though there are a few where she perfectly fulfills the "glowing mother" stereotype. A short video explains exactly where the grumpiness came from.

"Smile, dumpling!" Chuck croons, obviously with the intention of irritating her. And boy, does he. Other calls for her to be happy in other videos are similar, with him identifying her as 'sickie,' 'waddles,' and 'fatty.'

He was not always so insensitive, though.

"I'm puking up my intestines and you're seriously going to film it?" Jazmine demands in a video where she lies on her side in bed, half curled into a fetal position around the small swell of her abdomen that is Jason the fetus. She's pale and sweaty and just looks generally unhealthy. "Go die in a fucking hole, dickhead."

"I'm filming your symptoms," Chuck corrects calmly as he sets what must have been his phone on the nightstand and centers her in the frame, "so that I don't forget anything when we go to the doctor."

"I'm not going to the fucking doctor," she snarls.

"Yes you are," he answers from somewhere across the room from his phone. His tone brooks no argument.

"No I'm not, because you're fucking filming this with audio, and you're too fucking stupid to remember to use an American accent, dumbfuck. You're endangering this child's very existence, and I will destroy your fucking phone if you don't delete that video. Then I'll fucking kill you."

Chuck, dressed in bright civilian clothes that are alien to Herc's eyes, steps into the frame and drapes his ranger jacket over her shoulder. He'd "lost" his first one—Herc can tell which it is because it has just two kill marks on it—years ago and gotten a replacement, and while Herc had thought it strange that Chuck would not only lose something he'd been so proud to receive but also be so ambivalent about its loss, it never actually crossed Herc's mind to question it. Chuck had lost a number of important things as a child and the jacket was easy to replace, so Herc had thought little of it. Clearly, however, it hadn't been that lost. "All right, I'll start over."

Jazmine makes a noise of protest and pushes the jacket away. "Don't. I don't want to throw up on it. And if you're going to start over, get rid of this jacket."

"They make plenty of replicas for public sale," is all Chuck counters with, though Herc knows they don't make replicas with kill stamps. He readjusts the jacket until it's only draped over her waist, then with a yawn moves to retrieve his phone and end the recording.

Still pictures show Jazmine in various stages of pregnancy wearing Chuck's ranger jacket; sometimes she's awake, sometimes she's asleep. Chuck has a _lot_ of pictures, and more than a few videos, like that. It must have been something he found pleasing. There's a copy of the emotional video Jazmine has of Chuck holding Jason for the first time after the delivery. Then more pictures of Jazmine and Chuck's ranger jacket, only the latter is alternately being worn by Jazmine or wrapped around Jason as an extra layer.

"It's a little creepy and possessive, how much you want to see one of us in your jacket," Jazmine observes during a video involving the jacket in question. In that one, the jacket is being used as a sort of hammock for Jason, who's gurgling softly.

"It satisfies my inner caveman," Chuck tells her cheerfully. "It's my woman and my baby. My jacket marks my territory even when I'm not around."

"I don't wear your jacket in public."

"More's the pity," Chuck sighs.

"Nor am I a tree to be pissed on."

"Oh, give me a break. Like you wouldn't trumpet to the world that you'd had my baby if you thought no harm would come of it."

"What, and have every catty bitch on the planet hunt me down for getting you first? Oh yes, how appealing a prospect. Never mind that women who have babies out of wedlock are viewed more negatively than men in the same position."

"Why must you turn everything into a tale of misogyny?"

"Because the rise of extreme feminists has made people think the idea of feminism is outdated, even though women are still denigrated in most things and allowed unnecessary privilege—for a given value of the word—in the remainder. Equality between the sexes just doesn't exist yet—not for men and certainly not for women."

"I'll have to take your word for it, seeing as I'm busy trying to save the world and all. Now, I want to make a still of the next few seconds, so I need my Duckie to smile."

Herc tilts his head.

Jazmine smiles obediently, warm and content. About two seconds later, Chuck slips into the shot and poses with them. He then turns his head and presses a loud, smacking kiss to Jazmine's cheek. She leans away from him, laughing. They flirt for a few more seconds, much to Herc's amusement, but then Jason makes a protesting noise and they stop to tend him. They determine it's nothing serious and proceed to do something that surely all new and devoted parents will do at least once—they admire their baby, touch him, and talk about and to him. The phone's microphone can't pick up more than mumbles, so what they say is lost to history unless Jazmine can remember, but something inside Herc is soothed anyway by the sight.

Chuck had been given a chance to be a father and husband—even if not in the eyes of the law, in the latter case—and he hadn't wasted the opportunity. He'd been damn good at it, too.

Jazmine seems to think so as well. Her eyes are soft and adoring as she gazes up at him. Regardless of her usual behavior, it's clear that she's comfortable around Chuck; he's her protector, her hero. She tucks herself against him, submissive and quiet, with Jason cradled securely between them, and closes her eyes. The gesture seems to be alien to Chuck, who blinks and tries to look down at her, but her head is in the way. So he rests his jaw against her head instead and focuses on a spot across the room. After a moment, he sighs and lets his eyes close too. He yawns a second later, ruining the picturesque image, but it doesn't seem to disturb Jazmine any.

Chuck's drift phantom, apparently watching with Herc, shares a wash of contentment. He would have been happy like that, with her. With them. For all the chaos and demand generally associated with having a family, Chuck had found peace with his; they had been where he could go to find normalcy amidst the insanity that had comprised half his life.

The video goes on for a few more seconds. Then Chuck's eyes open slowly, gaze still focused on some other spot in the room. His attention shifts until he's looking at the camera in a sort of "oh yeah, forgot about you" way. But the phone is too far away for him to reach, so he doesn't bother to try to shut it off. Instead, a smile pulls the corner of his mouth up, and his eyes close as slowly as they'd opened.

Happiness. It permeates the video and bubbles from Chuck's drift phantom. And for a brief moment, Herc is happy as well—happy that his son had been able to slow down and enjoy such a simple pleasure.

After that is a series of pictures, all of Chuck holding a newborn, swaddled Jason. Sometimes he's looking at the baby, sometimes he's looking at the camera. In all of them Chuck looks somewhat uncertain even though he's definitely happy—a conflict that Herc can empathize with. Most women might have been encouraged to nurture, especially when they displayed that tendency as girls, but most men as boys didn't share that typical behavior and so weren't always encouraged to behave the same way. So when it came to being a parent, it seemed that a lot more men were at a loss than women. There was a video that proved it, with Jazmine behind the camera, scolding Chuck gently about how Jason was crying because of how he was being held.

"He's not crying because he hates you, you oversensitive prick—he's crying because he can feel how tense you are and he doesn't understand why. _Relax_!"

" _How_?" Chuck snaps in response, sounding frustrated practically to the point of tears himself. "If I don't hold him tightly enough he'll roll out of my arms and fall!"

Jazmine is silent for a moment before she says, "Goddamn it, Hansen, the boy is _swaddled_. It is physically impossible for him to get the leverage to roll, even if he had the strength to do so— _which he doesn't_. He weighs about _one-eighth_ of your damned dog's weight, so if you can hold your dog safely then you can hold your own child safely, too. _RELAX_."

"My child and my dog are two different things!"

"That's sweet of you, but not helpful. Sit on the couch if it will help." Chuck does so, and Jazmine uses one hand at a time to apply pressure to his hunched shoulders until they drop. "Now let your hands rest in your lap while you lean back . . . _Don't_ hunch your shoulders! . . . Lift him higher now, closer to your chest— _Shoulders_." Finally, Chuck is in what's approximately the typical baby-holding position. "Good," Jazmine concludes. "Now stop looking at him like you're afraid of him. It's scaring him. Smile and say hello."

Chuck is hesitant, but obeys. Herc knows it really isn't that hard to smile at your own child.

Jason quickly begins to quiet, and within a minute or two he's completely silent and gazing at Chuck with big blue eyes.

"There," Jazmine says. "See? He knows exactly who you are or he'd still be crying."

That's probably oversimplifying it a little, but it has the desired effect—Chuck can't be more thrilled. With the new feedback loop established, he takes the initiative and interacts more with his son.

From behind the camera, Jazmine sighs in a way that simultaneously conveys exhaustion and exasperation and mutters, "Jesus H. Christ . . ."

More pictures after that video show Jazmine and Chuck growing with their comfort as parents while Jason grows. With Jazmine always a step or two ahead, they begin holding Jason on his back in one supportive arm, then more upright as Jason's strength increases. There are more than a few pictures of Chuck with Jason resting belly-down on his forearm, legs and arms hanging free, which Herc finds a little curious. Herc had _frequently_ held Chuck that way during the latter's infancy because the position had made it a little harder for him to wriggle loose, fall, and get hurt if Herc got distracted by something else—and Chuck had just seemed to like the position more, in some instances—but Herc can't be sure whether Chuck did it with Jason because it's something that he picked up from the drift or a subconscious memory of the "right" way to hold a baby because that was how he'd been held. They had certainly never discussed it or interacted with many infants as jaeger pilots, so Herc can't recall any time when the memory was likely to have surfaced in him and then been passed along; infancy is such a brief span in a person's life—either as an infant or a caretaker—that the likelihood of such a memory getting passed on coincidentally seems very low to Herc.

Unless, perhaps, Chuck had "consulted" Herc's memories on the topic. Normally, it was impossible to shuffle around in someone's memories without them being aware of it, but Herc imagined there might have been opportunities when he was distracted or tired after a fight and just so focused on getting back to the shatterdome and into bed that he didn't pay attention to what Chuck was doing because he didn't feel threatened.

The next video is of the sort that Herc has never made himself, but did consider making many years ago when Chuck had still been little. The video opens on Jazmine, asleep in her bed. The bedcovers are a mess, enough so that Herc would have bet that she was either completely naked or at least topless. She remains the topic of the video for well over a minute, the camera moving around the bed to get her from different angles. Then it pans slowly around the room before moving toward the bedroom door and into the hall. Jazmine's bedroom light is turned off, leaving the unit so dark that it's obviously night out.

The camera then moves from Jazmine's bedroom to the door that Herc knows leads to Jason's bedroom. It's closed, but Chuck—obviously the cameraman—opens it and steps in. He quietly flicks on the overhead light and pans his phone's camera slowly to take in everything before stepping closer to the bassinet in the room. Inside, Jason is sleeping easily.

Something in Herc's chest swells with pride and pleasure. _That's my little boy._

Such strong reactions would have alarmed him not long ago, but now he can sense something indefinably distant about them—the feeling and thought are both an echo of Chuck's at the time, not new ones that have come to Herc at random. And for that Herc cherishes them, for they connect him more vividly to a part of Chuck's life he never had the chance to experience while his son was alive.

Chuck leaves Jason, turning out the light and closing the door as he retreats, then proceeds to get footage of the other rooms. He doesn't stay long, but at the same time none is too mundane or awkward to memorialize—he even troubles himself to get a quick pan of the bathroom. He pauses in the main room, turns his head to look around given the way the image sways, then sighs and moves toward the door.

In the quiet of the unit, Jazmine's stage-whisper is like the crack of a whip. "Where do you think you're going, you inconsiderate bastard?"

Chuck jumps and spins around. "Jesus Christ!" he snarls, careful to keep his voice low so that he doesn't wake Jason. "Don't fucking sneak up on me like that, bint!"

Jazmine, who's now wearing a tee-shirt that's much too big for her, is not cowed by his aggression. "Did you think it was going to be easier on me if you just up and vanished during the night?"

" _No_ ," he snaps. "I thought it would be easier on _me_."

Jazmine stares, then sighs and approaches. "You soft-bellied, gentle-hearted . . . Ugh! Fuck you."

"Please do," is Chuck's witty retort.

When she gets to him, she leans against him and wraps her arms around him. It's hard to tell without a third party there, but if Herc is reading the recording right, Chuck returns her embrace. They stay like that for over a minute, just holding each other in silence. Jazmine eventually says a word, though it's muffled in Chuck's shirt or something. It sounds like 'stay.' Chuck's reply is a quiet, "I can't."

After another minute or two and a little smooching, they separate. Jazmine walks Chuck to her door, but when he tries to leave she pulls him back. They kiss some more, and the video abruptly cuts out.

When it blinks back on, Chuck is in Herc's truck in Jazmine's drive. The door of her unit is shut and all the lights are off. The place is only recognizable because of the moonlight. Chuck is silent for a long while.

"I love you, Duckie," he finally says to the house. "You look after our son. I'll be back as soon as this bomb run is done with."

About two seconds of silence follow. Chuck curses softly then, his voice and breathing suggesting that he's getting emotional, and the video ends there.

Herc doesn't judge. Though part of the RAAF for fifteen years, he was deployed only for particularly brief periods. Of the times he had been, all but two had been during Chuck's lifetime. His wife had come from a military family, though she had never joined herself, so he had—perhaps rudely—expected her to understand and accept it. And she had, with a bravado-laden, _"Go kick some_ _arse_ _, Mister Hansen."_ It had been hard to say goodbye, but her attitude had done enough to convince him that she trusted him to return safe and that she'd be fine while he was gone. It had been different with Chuck, however.

That wasn't to say that Chuck had been clingy and full of tears; rather, it'd been the opposite. Herc's first two deployments after Chuck was born had seen him leaving behind a barely crawling, onesie-clad ankle-biter, and the knowledge that there was no way for little Chip to understand what was happening had been heartbreaking. Worse, that there would be no memory of Herc if he died so early in his son's life. The other three times, Chuck had been old enough to understand at least that Herc was leaving home for a long time, if not also that he might not come back, and on those occasions it had been even more heartbreaking to kneel down and look into his own blue eyes and say, _"You look after your mum until I get home, all right?"_ and watch that little chin wobble in the fight to seem like a man.

So Herc knows what it's like to leave one's home and family. He knows there's nothing good about it, nothing easy about it, no way to be comfortable with it. Home is where the heart is, as the saying goes, and leaving his heart behind isn't so easy for any decent man to do.

Chuck's drift phantom is small in Herc's mind, silent and mournful. If he had known he'd never come back from the Breach, he would have done things differently. Stayed longer, said more.

Herc knows where that spiral of thought leads, having been at the bedsides of dying brothers-in-arms. "It's never enough," he says aloud, though his attention is on his son's drift phantom. His voice is unsteady. "Even if you had known, you couldn't have ever spent enough time with them to make up for everything you'll miss now. But I'll be there," he promises, with a little more strength. "I never put things right between us—no matter what you said—and now I'll never be able to, but I can at least do this. I wasn't there for you, but I can be there for him."

For them—Jason and Jazmine and the baby. Even if Jazmine would have been fine on her own, she needs help with Jason. Herc doesn't doubt any woman's ability to raise a son to be a good man any more than he doubts any man's ability to raise a daughter to be a good woman, but the circumstances aren't so extenuating that she has to do it. Herc can— _will_ —be there to take that burden on. That's what family does.

His conviction soothes Chuck's drift phantom. It unfurls a little and comes forward, and draws his attention to a folder labeled simply 'New Folder.' It had never been named, so Herc had initially ignored it. But now he clicks it open and finds a single video file.

'Dad'

Herc doesn't want to open it. It's been one thing to watch videos where Chuck is focused on other people, behaving unusually enough that Herc can immerse himself in a side of his son he's never met and put aside the fact that Chuck is dead. But a file addressed to him can't possibly mean anything good, if only in the context of Herc's heart and remaining sanity.

Perhaps nudged by Chuck's drift phantom, Herc clicks the file open anyway.

It opens on Chuck, with an infant Jason just peeking over the edge of what Herc is pretty sure is Jazmine's computer desk. The background, however, suggests Jazmine has moved her desk since the video was done, because all Herc can see is a wall, not the peninsula and kitchen that had been visible during his own chat with Raleigh.

Chuck sighs. "Well, Da, I guess it's safe to say that either I'm dead or we got into a huge blue about this and I was too angry to be as eloquent as I needed. But you have to understand. Especially if I'm gone." Jason begins to fuss and squirm. Without looking down—but with a smile that does instead—Chuck shifts and begins to bounce his left leg. The gesture is heartachingly parental in its absentmindedness, proof inarguable that Chuck both accepted and adapted to his role. Thus entertained, Jason soon quiets.

Chuck becomes solemn again as he refocuses on the camera. Softly, he entreats, "I _need_ you to understand, Da. Please try. Please."

"I'm listening," Herc murmurs.

Chuck takes a breath and looks at the keyboard in front of him. "I didn't mean for this to happen—Jazmine and Jason. I did meet Jazmine after we had an argument, but I wasn't thinking I had to get you back."

The idea has, truly, never crossed Herc's mind. Indiscretion, yes, but never revenge. Except through shouts of impatience, Chuck did not drag innocent parties into his furies.

Chuck closes his eyes, goes still, and lets his head lower slightly. It's almost a gesture of submission. If nothing else, it's a gesture of peacefulness. "Jazmine and I . . ." He stops, straightens, opens his eyes, and resumes bouncing Jason. "I'm sure you're wondering if we really love each other. I can't tell you for certain—she and I have talked about it, but we can't pin our feelings down. I can't speak for her, but when I'm with her . . ." He blinks slowly. ". . . Everything is all right when I'm with her, Da. It's a lot like we're drifting, only we aren't that connected that we know each other's thoughts. But it feels like we're close and . . . and calm. We barely say a word to each other sometimes, and neither of us has told the other much about our family or background, but I don't feel as though anything's missing between us. Maybe that's a bad thing, but . . . I'd tell her if she asked, and I'm sure she'd tell me if I asked. We just don't."

Herc withholds judgment. Love manifests differently for different people. That Chuck and Jazmine were 'unable to pin their feelings down' tells him simply that they did love each other, but that both had come from environments sterilized of anything romantic. It makes sense to him as far as Chuck is concerned, but makes him wonder how twisted Jazmine's childhood had been.

"Jason is . . . At this point I have no choice but to believe he was supposed to happen. I didn't want to have children. You and I talked about it, and everything you said was right, and I still agree even now. This world is no place for kids when it's such a mess and could end tomorrow, for all we know. I feel bad about bringing Jason into it, with no guarantee of anything." Chuck shakes his head a little. "I feel like I've let him down already, because it's a father's job to give his children every chance he can. But I don't regret him. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. Not now, not ever. I hope that makes sense."

Oh, it makes plenty of sense—just who the hell had the kid thought he was talking to? Herc is intimately familiar with that combined pride and shame; pride in his son's mere existence, at this amazing creature for which he's half responsible, and shame that he couldn't foresee the future, hadn't known what was going to happen and planned better. There are so many parts of Chuck's life that he regrets, but at no point has he ever regretted his son's presence. Even when Chuck was at his worst, Herc would have fetched him the stars if he said he wanted them. It was Herc's curse that the one thing Chuck had wanted then—his mother—was something that Herc had neither the strength nor knowledge to provide.

Chuck chokes softly and cuddles Jason as though the boy is a stuffed toy. Jason blinks. Chuck closes his eyes and squeezes the baby. "Oh, Da, I thought I knew what it was like to be a father. We drift and . . . I feel what you feel. But then Jason was born, and what I feel for him isn't more or less, just _different_. And so strong. I realized no one can ever replace him. Or you."

"Or you," Herc whispers, unable to trust his voice.

Chuck eases his grip on Jason, who has taken the adoring abuse like a champ. He sniffles and looks once more at Herc. "Da," he says, voice calm and quiet again, "while she was pregnant I asked Jazmine to let me name the baby if it turned out to be a boy. I wanted to name him after you, but I remembered what you said about getting bullied in school, so I picked a name that fared better historically."

Herc frowns slightly, puzzled. He remembers that Jason is Jason _Scott_ , so there's an undeniable connection to his brother, but he's unable figure out how Jason could be named for _him_. In a flash, however, he makes the link: Like Hercules, Jason is a heroic character from Greek mythology, and they even have similar stories—respectively, the golden apples of the Hesperides and the golden fleece.

Humility makes something thick lodge in Herc's throat.

"You've been a good dad," Chuck goes on. "The best I could have asked for. I'm seeing all that now. Or, I . . . I guess I've seen it ever since the drift, but I'm _understanding_ now. Even when I didn't think you were—even when I didn't deserve it—you were always there for me. All I would've had to do was say something."

"You were only a boy," Herc protests, guilt coiling in his gut. "You shouldn't have _had_ to ask. It wasn't something you had the experience to know. It was my responsibility, and I—"

"You were afraid of suffocating me," Chuck says, surprising Herc with his accuracy. "You worried about me but didn't want to overwhelm me and make me retreat just so I could have time to myself. I didn't . . ." He shakes his head. "Before, I didn't grasp what that meant. But . . ." He glances down at his son's blond head.

"Jason's trying to walk," he explains as he looks again at Herc. "He leans on things for support and then stands on his own, but then he'll overbalance and fall, and sometimes he cries, and . . ." Chuck's eyes grow glassy. "Da, I just want to pick him up and tell him it'll be all right and give him _my_ legs if it'll help, but Jazmine won't let me. She says we learn from our mistakes, so he has to fail and fall and get back up on his own or he'll never get it right. But I don't . . . _care_ about that. I want him to be happy _now_. But . . . if I do that, am I really helping him?"

Fatherhood changed Chuck so much. Herc can't comprehend how he's never seen it before this moment. Apparently, Chuck missed his calling as the world's best actor.

"And that's what you've always done for me," Chuck says. "You let me fall and wait for me to get up on my own because I have to learn to look after myself— _especially_ when I put my arse in the fire. It's hard. I know that now. But if I ever need a hand up you're always there. Always. I know you are. And I want . . . I want to be that sort of father too."

"God forbid," Herc says, and ignores the mild irritation that rolls from Chuck's drift phantom.

On the screen, Chuck makes the sort of face that is a visual echo of the drift phantom's annoyance, as though it's transferring through time and space. And hell, maybe it is—it's not like J-science ever learned _everything_ about drifting. "I'm not saying that you were perfect, old man," he snorts. Then he calms. "But you did the best you could. And even when you failed, you kept trying. Nothing I threw at you ever made you quit, even though I'm sure you wanted to sometimes. I want to be that kind of person, too—man, father, all of it."

Herc is somewhat baffled. From infancy, Chuck had been the quintessential go-getter, letting nothing stop him. Herc found it hard to believe that his son had needed some kind of guidance in that arena, of all of them.

"Well, that was sappy as hell," Jazmine's voice interjects from off camera.

The tableau is broken and the moment ruined, but Herc isn't terribly upset. He's only missing Chuck more and hurting more as the video goes on, and if he can at least reduce the severity of the feelings that's something.

Chuck glares to some location where she's presumably standing. "Shut it, cunt."

"Now _there's_ an ironclad argument."

Chuck responds with an obscene gesture.

"You know, Americans say the same thing with less effort," Jazmine replies. "Like so."

Chuck isn't impressed. "Americans don't own that anymore."

"And you'd know all about that, I suppose, seeing as Australia stole the majority of her vocabulary from the UK and America anyway."

Chuck just about lunges for that bait. "You stupid seppo bitch, I'll—"

"Show your dad how talented you are at domestic abuse? Oh, by all means . . ."

Chuck stops, then points at her. " _Rack off_ , bint. I'm trying to be serious." His gaze follows her presumed retreat, and then he shoots the camera an exasperated look. "How," he hisses as he rolls the computer chair close to the desk, "can I love her this much when she pisses me off so easily?"

Herc almost laughs. He learned long ago that being in love with someone didn't protect a man against any irritations caused by that person.

"Because I'm not afraid to remind you that you're a hot, sexy stud on top of being an asshole," Jazmine calls from another room. "I make you want it."

To the camera, Chuck says in an even softer voice, " _That_ is the part that pisses me off the most."

If she hears, Jazmine doesn't comment. "Gummy worms for my boys?"

"Thank you," Chuck answers immediately, which is no surprise to Herc. He's well aware of his son's love for sour gummy worms.

 _Well_ aware.

"Yef pwee!" Jason chirps, cementing—again—Herc's fondness for him.

"I want you to remember this moment well," Jazmine announces, apparently to Chuck, "in case you ever feel you have reason to question the source of the other half of his genes."

"You mean your half?" Chuck shoots back.

"I said _source_ , not _quality_. The fact that I was pregnant and gave birth right in front of you conveniently proves the 'source' part."

Chuck yawns abruptly, which cuts off any response he might have intended to give.

Jazmine must have been looking at him, because she says, "You should go back to bed."

Chuck lifts one hand and rubs his corresponding eye. "I can't, though."

Jazmine doesn't argue. A few seconds later, her lean arms set two small plates—each with a tiny pile of gummy worms on it—between the camera and Chuck and Jason. Jason reaches for the nearest plate, which holds regular gummy worms. He grabs three of them, which for him constitutes a handful, and immediately begins to put them in his mouth.

"Whoa there!" Chuck intercepts the move, taking Jason's hand in his own with familiarity and gentleness. "Just a minute, mate. You can't eat all those like that." Jason looks back at him with a child's standard blank-faced expression and lets the worms go.

Certain he has them, Chuck shifts them out of kiddie reach as he looks toward the kitchen. "Jazmine, why didn't you cut these up?"

"They don't need to be cut up, Chuck. They're _soft_."

"And _long_!" he protests. "He could choke on them!"

"He has _teeth_ now, you know, Chuck. He can chew. Just give them to him one at a time and keep an eye on him. That's what I do."

Chuck's jaw drops in alarm.

It occurs to Herc at this point that Chuck is so involved in his family he's completely forgotten about his explanation—at the moment, he's just _living_. Herc continues to watch, fascinated by a part of his son's life that he had somehow missed for nearly three years.

"I'm not dirtying a knife because you're overprotective, Chuck," Jazmine informs him. "If it bothers you so much, bite them into halves or quarters or whatever will make you feel good about yourself."

" _Bite_ them?!"

Herc feels a grin pull at his mouth as Jason gives up waiting for the plain worms to be returned and reaches for the sour ones next. Chuck's attention is too far away for him to notice and interfere.

" _Chuck_ , you eat after him. You might as well eat before him, too. I know he'd be thrilled; babies like to eat what their parents eat. It's instinct, so that they learn what's good and safe. That's why I haven't bothered to buy him baby food and why we all drink puréed solids instead of eating them."

"But giving him _whole_ gummy worms—"

"While you're berating me, Superdad, he's eating your sours."

Herc almost laughs.

Chuck's head snaps down to Jason, who has just stuck sour gummy worm number two in his mouth. Chuck is horrified, but doesn't seem to know what to do. Thus uninhibited, Jason chews once, and that's when the sourness really hits his tongue. He stiffens and his face contorts until it fades, he chews a little more, and then repeats the process until the worm is safely swallowed. Hesitantly, Chuck gives Jason one of the regular gummies and watches the baby chew contentedly while gazing up at him. When the world fails to end, Chuck relaxes and gives up arguing.

Jazmine steps into the range of the camera, sets a glass of milk on a coaster, and wraps her arms around Chuck's head and shoulders. Not fond of touch from strangers, his willingness to be drawn against her and held says volumes about his regard for her. She presses a kiss to his head, and his eyes close.

"No matter how I may argue," she murmurs, "know that your caution speaks well of you. You are a good father, and the only reason I _can_ argue is because I spend so much time with him. Okay?"

Chuck nods into her breast and relaxes further.

Jazmine frees one hand to deftly pry sour gummy worm number five from Jason's hand. "Leave some for Daddy, brat." She drops the worm back on the plate and pushes the whole thing out of his reach. Jason observes, studies, then determines that he can't get to it and goes after the plate of plain worms.

" _Je t'ador_ ," she purrs, and strokes her hand over Chuck's head. " _Toujours_."

Chuck hums.

"You don't even know what that means," she snorts.

"I know it's something good," he replies. "It sounds like something good."

Jazmine croons something else at him and runs her fingers through his hair.

Chuck gives her a bit of a side eye, though he doesn't try to get away from her. "You just said you were going to kill me, didn't you?"

She laughs and pulls away. "I said your haircut was cute. But I'm glad to know I inspire caution in you—have to keep your sleepy ass on its toes."

Chuck watches her go, his expression not really besotted in any way, but mild and even peaceful. He's truly comfortable around her. Trusts her. After a bit he looks down at Jason, who's finishing off the last of the regular gummy worms. Father and son have a moment, with Chuck using his sleeve—and giving a gentle admonition about messy eating—to wipe Jason's mouth while Jason watches him attentively.

With that done, Chuck reaches for the sour gummy worms and helps himself to a few. When Jason reaches for one, Chuck looks down at him, cocks his head, and then in what to Herc is an atypical show of selflessness hands the treat to the baby. They share the remainder of the gummies and the glass of milk, and when it's all gone Chuck wipes Jason's mouth again. He then hugs the boy gently, his expression pensive as he stares at the space beneath the desk. After a moment, Chuck turns his head a little and tucks it out of sight behind Jason's. He says something, and it's very hard to make out, but Herc would swear it's, "I love you."

When he draws back, Chuck smiles at his son and says a little louder, "You and your mummy are the best things that ever happened to me."

"You're welcome," Jazmine replies from the kitchen.

Chuck rolls his eyes, but doesn't snap at her. He does, however, lower his voice a bit and say, "And I hope that you and I are the best things that ever happened to Mummy."

Jazmine, if she heard, doesn't respond to that, instead announcing, "Lunch is ready."

"Fuck yeah," Chuck answers, and starts to get to his feet, Jason pinned against his abdomen by one hand—a far cry from his nervousness during Jason's infancy—only to pause and look back at the computer. Finally, he's remembered that he was recording a message to Herc. ". . . Bloody oath," he says mildly.

"Stop teaching your child bad language," Jazmine admonishes.

Chuck snorts as he reaches for the computer mouse with his free hand. "You're no less profane than I am, bint." Then he looks at the computer, through time and space into Herc's eyes, and mouths three words.

The video ends.

Herc's vision grows foggy with tears. He closes his eyes, ignoring how the displaced moisture falls away.

" _I'm happy, Da."_

Herc wishes he can be happy, too, but . . . "It should have been me."

Chuck's drift phantom doesn't exactly argue, though it's definitely paying attention, definitely hears, and is definitely annoyed. Shit happens, and no matter how much Chuck might have wanted to be there, the only important part is that one of them _is_ there for Jazmine and especially Jason. And the baby. The baby Chuck never knew existed before he died.

Herc sighs, takes a moment to collect himself, then clicks out of the folder. Almost immediately, he spots another tucked between two image files that was totally skipped over when he clicked 'Next' in the image-viewing program. He opens it, and again finds just a single video file hidden inside. He knows he shouldn't—the video isn't addressed to him. But he's curious, and Chuck's drift phantom isn't even implying he shouldn't look, let alone actively attempting to stop him.

Unlike the video for him, this video was obviously filmed in a shatterdome. Considering how dark it is in the background, Herc assumes it's Hong Kong—Sydney was much better lit. Chuck is there, looking decades older than he had in the previous video even though a maximum of three years have passed; he sighs and rubs his face as though to wake himself up.

"Jason," he says, then hesitates, ". . . it's probably cliché to say it, but if you're watching this then I'm . . ." He hesitates again, then frowns a little. "If I'm not there, then I'm dead. You need to know that. I don't know what you might think or what anyone else might tell you about why I'm not there, but _I'm_ telling you that I'm not there because something isn't letting me be there. I love you, and I love your mum, and I wouldn't want to be anywhere you two weren't. The two of you . . . The two of you are the most important people in my life. And if it weren't for the kaiju, I'd be with you right now.

"Fighting them isn't something just anyone can do," he explains, "so it's not just a matter of giving up and letting someone else do it. I was doing this long before I met your mum, and quitting isn't an option. If things go the way they should, you'll never understand what I mean. If that's the case, please trust that I did what I did to protect you and her."

He takes a breath. "Before I met your mum, when I was fighting the kaiju, I . . . didn't care. I just didn't care what happened to me. I didn't even care what happened to the planet. All I wanted to do was fight, because your granddad was hurting and I was hurting, and fighting . . . wasn't the right way to go about handling it, but it was the fastest answer. I didn't have anything to fight _for_." He smiles. "Not until I met your mum.

"Even with her, at first, it didn't matter—she was just kind of interesting. A way to pass the time between fights. But she really began to distract me and give me something to look forward to. And . . ."

He sighs, definitely completely besotted by this point. Herc nearly laughs at how ridiculous his son sounds, knowing full well he'd been in the same place once upon a time.

"Jay, I love your mum. I don't know if that's even the most accurate word, but it's the only word I know of. Other than you, she's my world. It'd kill me if anything happened to either of you. And that's why I'm still fighting, even though I'd rather be with you two. I can't do anything about disease, or car accidents, or collapsing buildings, but I can fight kaiju. And if that can help you two live just a day longer, it's worth it. Right now, I want to give you a hug and give your mum a kiss. We've never been so far apart for so long before, and it . . . it's killing me. But I have to do this. I have to do everything I can to protect you.

"So whatever might be happening in your life right now, Jay—whatever some ignorant cunt might say to you about you or your mum or me just because there's no man in your lives—just know that I'd be there if I could. Heaven would be hell without you two."

He seems like he's about to stop the recording when a thought occurs to him. "Oh . . ." He focuses on the camera again. "I just . . . I don't know how things are going to turn out after this mission. It's huge, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared. A lot rests on it. And a lot has changed because your granddad just got hurt. I've never jockeyed with anyone else, so I don't know how this drop with the marshal is going to go. And if my mission fails, there's every chance my old man'll be dead too, by the time you see this. I couldn't tell you how, but he's been a soldier all his life, and I know he'd die on his feet with a gun in his hands. He's too fucking stubborn to just give up and die the way most other people would, though if I'm gone I'd say he has every right.

"What I'm saying is that if I'm dead but my mission succeeded and the kaiju are gone, he's probably still alive. Maybe not in the best shape, but alive. Look for him. Tell him who you are. I reckon your mum already has some plans, but you should have your own. Just understand that I never got the guts to tell him about you and your mum, so should you find him he'll be sceptical. For your safety I'm not on your birth certificate, but I'm sure that a blood test or something will prove you right, and once he's sure I know he'll always be there for you the way he was always there for me.

"Now write down what I'm about to tell you. It should help you track him."

Chuck reels off a list of information about Herc, mostly things that would be considered public knowledge that can still be used for tracking purposes—full name, birthdate, parents' names and birthdates, brother's name and birthdate, wife's name and birthdate, locations he'd lived at, education, dates he'd entered and left the RAAF, and so on. Chuck concludes by saying, "God forbid you find anything, but don't forget to check death records, all right? You should have access to those as well. Probably check there first—no point in devoting too much energy to the search if he's dead."

He then sits for a moment, considering the camera. Finally, he says, "I . . . guess that's all. Look after your mum for me, and don't let your granddad be a guilt-ridden old fuck—he'll do it if you let him get away with it. And know that, no matter what, I love you. Have ever since I first laid eyes on you, though I was scared as hell because I didn't know if I could be the father you deserved. Just . . . Just do the best you can and don't hurt others for your own sake, and I'll always be proud of you."

The video ends. Heart heavier than ever, Herc closes out the file and scans for anything else he missed. He spots a third folder, and when he clicks it open finds a file addressed to Jazmine. Herc isn't terribly curious about its contents, because he already knows the sorts of things a man says to the woman he loves when they're apart. So he pokes around the table instead, unearths a flash drive, and copies both Jazmine's file and Jason's onto it. When the task is done, he logs out of the PPDC's cloud and places the drive gently in his duffel for the trip home.

* * *

For perhaps the first time ever, Herc is actually glad to be going back to the little duplex. It may not be the home on the RAAF base he lived in for half his life, but it's _his_ home and it's right next his grandson's, and that's good enough. After a minute or so Jazmine pokes her head out from next door and asks if he needs help carrying anything in, but he waves her away.

"We're having a late lunch," she tells him, "so if you haven't eaten yet feel free to join us." She pauses, then says, "Actually, join us even if you have eaten. Okay?"

"Will do," he promises, and heads for his own door.

It's obvious Jazmine was in there, because before he left Herc made sure to turn the thermostat up to save money in the summer heat, but instead of being unpleasantly hot the house is tolerably warm, as though she'd been by around breakfast to turn the thermostat down a few degrees. If necessary, Herc can pull his shirt off and park himself in front of the television with a cold beer and he'll be fine.

If there is beer.

Herc checks the refrigerator, which he unplugged before going to the shatterdome. It's running, but warm and empty inside. He shrugs and goes to put his duffels in his bedroom, figuring he can mooch some lemonade or something from Jazmine. Or wine, if he has to have something fermented.

He takes 'the back way' to Jazmine's unit and lets himself in. Jason notices him immediately and squeals a greeting that Herc can't help smiling at.

Jazmine chuckles from her place by the sink. "He may not know who you are to him, but he loves you all the same. Hungry?"

"Starved," Herc responds, and proceeds to lift Jason from the high chair so that they can keep each other company. He gives Chuck's affection an outlet, cuddling the toddler just a little tighter than necessary; he's going to have to love Jason for both of them. _My son . . . My boy . . ._ "But you did know, didn't you, Jay? Your mummy didn't know, and your ol' granddad didn't know, but you did."

"He _is_ oddly attached to you, for being a veritable stranger," Jazmine concedes as she brings two plates of sandwiches and chips to the table.

Herc doesn't mean to be so abrupt, but a fond impression from Chuck's drift phantom causes him to blurt something he remembers hearing in the videos he watched. "'Duckie'?"

She blinks, then tilts her head. "What about it?"

He places Jason back into the high chair and secures him, then sits at the table. He gives the toddler a grin and a tickle, then turns to her again. "Chuck had pictures and videos on his laptop. I put them in the PPDC's cloud before I gave it away. It's some kind of nickname?" It's strange because Chuck didn't give things nicknames. Herc doesn't either. Not that sort of cutesy nickname, at least.

She sighs. "He got me a stuffed bunny one time, without realizing what sort of meaning it would have for me. I was very touched by the gesture, so I started calling him _Jeannot_ —'Bunny.' He thought it was stupid but I refused to stop, so he decided to get me back." She shrugs. "Both stuck."

That figures. Herc snorts and looks at his lunch. "This looks amazing."

Jazmine wrinkles her nose. "It's a sandwich. Institutional food doesn't do it for you?"

He's eaten it practically all his life and is entirely used to it, but . . . "Not by a mile."

Herc consumes his sandwich and chips in record time, but lingers over his lemonade as his grandson and sort-of daughter-in-law eat. Tentatively, in the latter's case.

"The bub treating you right?" he asks, noticing suddenly that Jazmine is a little pale.

"About an hour ago I was bashed in the stomach," she explains. "I still haven't recovered." She smiles a bit wanly and sets her sandwich aside. "I'll be better in a bit, don't worry. Jason kicked me like this too and I survived. In the meantime, tell me how your side is. I meant to turn the air conditioning on last night but forgot, so I did it this morning instead. And plugged your refrigerator back in."

Herc thinks about that for the first time and is mildly horrified. "You shouldn't be pushing around kitchen appliances while you're pregnant."

Jazmine leans on the table and gives him a flat look. "I change my own oil while pregnant, too. Is that also a problem in your mind?"

"Well, no one should be getting oil in their skin, but it's not on the same scale as moving appliances."

" _Anyway_ , how's your side?"

Clearly, that discussion is going to go nowhere. So Herc says, "It's a bit warm, but compared to the outside it's grand. By the way, I thought I left beer in the fridge . . .?"

Jazmine makes a face. "Then unplugged the thing so your beer would get warm and gross. I rescued what was left and put it in my fridge."

Herc was more messed up than he imagined, if he unplugged the refrigerator and walked off without seeing to the beer. "You're an angel."

"Don't. I don't keep a lot in my fridge, so it has to work harder. Your beer helped maintain the temperature in there and saved me money."

Jason finishes his sandwich and chips, so Herc lays claim to him. "You eat," he tells Jazmine. "Jay and I'll keep each other company."

Jazmine sighs at her plate but doesn't argue. Herc gets Jason's face and hands clean of sandwich bits and child slobber, then goes to the toddler's room, where the two play for a couple of hours before Jason starts yawning and behaving crankily. So Herc puts him down for a nap, stays until Jason drops off, then leaves quietly.

He finds Jazmine in her room. She's napping too, quite soundly. He studies her for a minute to make sure she isn't experiencing labor pains or something and just hasn't realized it, but she appears fine. He gets a strong Chuck-urge to caress her shoulder, but an equally strong Chuck-warning argues that Jazmine is not a creature to be handled casually when she's in such a vulnerable state unless the person touching her was already present when she entered that state.

So Herc errs on the side of caution and exits the room without bothering her. He retrieves a beer from the fridge and settles on the couch with it. It's slightly flat, but consumable. He lets Chuck's drift phantom have a little more rein and deals with the consequential disorientation of being what most people would identify as "Chuck in Herc's body," even though Herc is still fully aware and has ultimate control of his body.

First and foremost, Chuck's drift phantom apparently doesn't like Herc's choice in beer.

"Tough titty, kiddo," Herc murmurs in response, and keeps drinking.

Chuck's drift phantom digs up other shared-but-buried memories that Herc had 'inherited' from his son but never paid attention to. There really aren't many about Jazmine or Jason or both—Chuck was in the shatterdome a lot, but when he wasn't and was with them he still slept most of the time. It wasn't until his first year as _Striker_ 's copilot was coming to an end that his overwhelming need to sleep began to fade, and it was only another year and a half or so before he and Herc were in Hong Kong. Fantasies are much more common, and those are somewhat . . . explicit . . . at points; the remainder are generic, inspired largely by movie-style precepts. But throughout is a deep longing to be with his 'wife' and child, and when he _is_ with them, he's content.

"You should've said something," Herc scolds the drift phantom, which ducks a bit. "We could've worked around it. Forget what I might've wanted or how disappointed I might've been— _you_ could have spent more time with them. If you made any mistake about this, it was worrying about what I would think when it didn't actually matter. I know you did what you did because you didn't want to stress me, but I would've gotten over it, and right quick. Anything I might've said about the kaiju and the war would've been just an old man's muttering—what's done is done, and in a situation of this sort, the only thing to do would be to enjoy it as much as possible before the end, regardless of what that end is. I would've wanted you to be with them, whether or not I was there too."

Chuck's drift phantom doesn't argue, but it doesn't agree either. It instead seems to take in Jazmine's half of the duplex and draw comfort from memories of what's familiar.

Herc finishes his beer, sets the bottle on the coffee table, and wriggles down into the cushions. Jazmine had said the couch is a bad place to sleep, but Herc and Jason napped there with no problem, so he isn't terribly worried about the repercussions. He yawns, draws the knit blanket off the back of the couch and over his torso, and lets himself drift off to Chuck's drift phantom's quiet memories of happier times.

It's good to be home.

* * *

 **To Be Continued in . . .** **Chapter 6** **– The Turns Life Takes**

"The man I killed!" she replies, her voice thick with some non-English accent. Presumably French, if her mother was from France. "When they brought me in they ran my prints and everything, and someone's noticed that I'm illegal! They came to pick me up and took Jason away!"

"Why now?" It's strange that they didn't notice at the time, unless it was just shoddy police work.

She shakes her head.

Herc wishes he could hold her hand or something, but the police seem to prefer to treat her as though she's guilty of a violent crime; neither he nor Raleigh is allowed to get close. What he knows, however, is that Raleigh has no Australian citizenship and therefore won't be able to move about and get the answers Herc can.

* * *

 **Answers To Questions You Didn't Even Know You Wanted To Ask:**

 _"You stupid seppo bitch, I'll—"_

This is a fun one. To get to the point, a seppo/Seppo is an American. If you're interested in the word gymnastics:

'Seppo' is colloquial form of 'septic,' and 'septic' is shortened from 'septic tank.' 'Tank' rhymes with 'Yank,' which is short for 'Yankee,' which—as mentioned last chapter—is an American. _Any_ American.

As you might imagine it's not the nicest thing to say. After all, septic tanks are full of shit, right? That said, context should always be considered, because Australians have been known to call pretty much everyone "cunt," including their best friends.

—

If you find this fic to be somewhat fine, please take the time to drop me a line!

~RN (LS)


	6. The Turns Life Takes

**Word Count:** 8,267 ( **Total:** 52,820)

 **Rating:** T for language and some light sexual situations (all clothing stays on, but those who are squeamish about age gaps beware)

 **Date Submitted:** 2/9/18

* * *

 **Chapter 6** **– The Turns Life Takes**

* * *

When Herc gets to the police station, he finds Jazmine pacing in a holding cell, expression anxious.

"What's going on?" Herc demands. "What happened?"

She wasn't allowed to call him herself; someone else called instead, which irritates Herc for some reason and irritates Chuck's drift phantom even more. And since he's been at work he was with Raleigh when he got the call, which necessitated informing the younger man, who of course is now distressed. It's just not a very good way for the police to start things off, in Herc's mind. It would have been much better to let Jazmine call, so he could hear for himself that she's unhurt. Especially given how little he was told.

Upon hearing his voice, Jazmine whips around and rushes to the cell wall. With her head raised, it's clear that she's been crying. "They took Jason!"

Herc is instantly alarmed. Chuck's drift phantom is just as instantly incensed. "Took him?"

"The man I killed!" she replies, her voice thick with some non-English accent. Presumably French, if her mother was from France. "When they brought me in they ran my prints and everything, and someone's noticed that I'm illegal! They came to pick me up and took Jason away!"

"Why now?" It's strange that they didn't notice at the time, unless it was just shoddy police work.

She shakes her head.

Herc wishes he could hold her hand or something, but the police seem to prefer to treat her as though she's guilty of a violent crime; neither he nor Raleigh is allowed to get close. What he knows, however, is that Raleigh has no Australian citizenship and therefore won't be able to move about and get the answers Herc can.

He looks at the younger man. "You stay. Calm her down. I'll find Jason and get this cleared up."

Raleigh nods and says something in French to Jazmine. She blurts out a long-winded response that Herc can't begin to separate into words, but Raleigh appears to understand her.

Herc escorts himself from the holding cells to the main desk and leans on it. "I need some information."

The girl behind the desk smiles. "How can I help you, Mister Hansen?"

"The young lady in the back," he says. "Jazmine Lapierre. She has a child who was taken from her. I need to know where he is."

Her smile fades. "I . . . I'm sorry, Mister Hansen, but I can't give you that information."

Herc silently apologizes to Jazmine for blowing her long-held secret, but it's important. Besides, her reason for keeping it a secret is not as valid as it was; Chuck's name can safely be added to Jason's birth records, because even though Chuck is gone Herc has no plans to move out of the duplex. Not without taking Jazmine and Jason with him, at least. If anyone with the BuenaKai were to delude themselves into thinking they'd kill Jason to deal a strike at Chuck, they'd have to get through both Jazmine _and_ Herc first. "Yes, you can, because he's my grandson."

Her eyes go wide. "Oh! Oh, I . . . I didn't realize . . ." She shuffles around the desktop and in two different drawers before finally coming up with a folder. She flicks it open and scans the top paper inside, then frowns. "It doesn't say anything about other family . . ."

"I'm aware of that," he tells her. "It was a precaution that was taken for my grandson's safety. It's going to be dealt with now that all of this foolishness has happened. In the meantime, I want to know where he is."

Her expression is apologetic. "I'm sorry, Mister Hansen, but I can't do that without proof of relation."

Which, of course, Herc doesn't have. It's possible he could use the post-birth video of Jason and scoot by on that, but all the video really says is that Chuck attended the birth of Jazmine's child and all it suggests is that he believed her child was his. It doesn't _prove_ that Jason is Chuck's son too.

Herc taps his middle finger on the cultured marble front counter and stares accusingly at the girl as he tries to figure out the next best step. She watches him warily. Then help arrives.

"Herc!"

He turns and finds a smile, weak and distracted though it is. "Derrek. How are ya?"

Derrek leans on the front counter and offers the girl a quick, reassuring smile before focusing on Herc. "I'm fine, but you clearly aren't. What has your panties in a bunch on this fine day?"

Herc jerks his head toward the holding area. "The girl in the back."

"Illegal alien. We're not being mean to her, hero."

Herc would have begged to differ, but Jazmine is the lesser concern. "I need to know where her son is."

Derrek unwraps a peppermint and pops it into his mouth. He's been trying for years to quit smoking, and peppermints are the way he deflects the absentminded habit of reaching for a cigarette when he doesn't really need one or isn't allowed to have one, such as when he's indoors. "Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you that."

Obviously. "He's my grandson, Dezza. The one still in her is mine as well."

Derrek stops and blinks, drawing his head back in surprise, then chokes. Herc gives him a quick thump on the back that does the trick. Derrek gets control of himself and stares at Herc. "Since _when_?"

"Since about two years ago, apparently," Herc explains. "Almost three. From the videos I've seen, Chuck never worked up the guts to tell me."

Derrek gives him a sideways look. "Darryl told me about all the girls who came after you when you got back from Hong Kong."

Herc waves his hand dismissively. "I didn't crack, you clucky bastard. But it is a long story, and I'm sure as shit not telling you in front of the whole fucking planet."

Derrek considers him, then reaches down over the counter and grabs a pen and pad of paper from the desk. He scribbles something as he says, "I'm not only clucky—I'm nosy as fuck." He pushes the pad and pen at Herc. "Sign this."

Herc looks at what his friend wrote on the pad. Derrek is taking full responsibility for the release of the information of Jason's whereabouts, and Herc's signature regards a promise to act as Jazmine's sponsor. He signs as well and slides the pad back.

Derrek rips the sheet off and hands it to the girl. "Put this in the file. Give me the boy's location, and then get started on release papers for the mother. Mister Hansen will sign them when he gets back."

The girl nods and reads him an address.

"Jesus, that's four councils away— Whatever. Thanks, love. C'mon, Herc."

* * *

In the privacy of Derrek's patrol car, Herc explains everything. Derrek remains politely skeptical.

"It's just really convenient, that's all," he says. "I mean, it's so crazy that either it's completely true or she went to a lot of effort to make that story watertight."

"You wouldn't question it if you'd seen the videos," Herc counters. "It's Chuck, and Jason's his son."

"You should have a paternity test done."

Herc grunts. "I'll do it if I have to."

"The government will want it done, if you plan to change the kid's records. And other women are going to come round again once this gets out. Doing the test for both kids, regardless of how necessary you feel it is, will set the precedent for the rest so that fewer come, and those who do come go away faster."

"Fine."

"I have a kit in the boot—we'll just have the employees there act as witnesses."

* * *

The employees at the state-run childcare facility aren't happy to see them and don't want to cooperate. It's fortunate that Derrek is a state officer, as it gives him some pull that he wouldn't have had as some other forms of authority. Herc gets more and more irritated the longer the delay stretches; sure that it's Chuck's influence, he does everything he can to keep calm and still. It helps that Derrek is also calm and patient.

"The kid is his grandson," Derrek explains. Again. "I understand that you have no proof—neither do I, and neither does he. That's exactly why we're here." He raises the kit into view and wiggles it.

". . . Very well," is the annoyed response from the matronly head of the facility. She turns to a young man beside her. "Quentin, if you would."

"Sure." He checks a binder on the desk, then turns away. "I'll be right back."

About two minutes later, Quentin returns with a boy in his arms.

Derrek and Herc both straighten. Derrek mutters, "What the bloody . . .?" He looks at Herc and demands, "Are you fucking serious?"

It's not Jason. The boy's five or six years old, with much darker hair and obviously brown eyes.

Herc glares. First at Derrek for so easily doubting him, then over at the supervisor, then hardest at Quentin. "That's not my grandson."

Quentin is surprised. "But—"

The supervisor is wise enough to step in promptly. "He's right, Quentin—that's Arthur, not Jason."

"He was the only one in the room," Quentin protests, confused.

"Then Jason is elsewhere. Return Arthur and check the activity room."

"All right."

When Quentin is out of sight, the supervisor says to Herc, "I apologize for the mistake. Arthur and Jason share a room, and this is Quentin's first day. He doesn't know the kids or the grounds well."

When Quentin returns the second time, he does have Jason. The toddler looks a mess—clothes disheveled, hair uncombed and sticking out everywhere, face red, eyes bloodshot. He's pushing away from Quentin as hard as he can, with both arms. Herc is desperately glad to see him.

Jason spots Herc. He reaches out with both arms, leaning dangerously away from Quentin. " _Daddy_!" When Quentin lifts him upright, Jason takes it as a refusal to let him go and shrieks. " _DADDY_!"

Herc knows he shouldn't, but he can't really help it. He crosses to Quentin and in one smooth motion lifts Jason from the young man's arms, ignoring the protests from the other three adults present.

Jason immediately clutches his shirt and starts sobbing into his shoulder. "Daddy . . ."

"That's close enough, I guess," Herc murmurs. "You're all right, Jay. You don't have to be afraid. I've got you now."

"Mummy . . ."

Herc shushes him gently. "Mummy can't be here right now. You have to wait." He knows it's a hard thing to ask of a toddler, but there's no other choice.

Jason sticks his thumb in his mouth. Herc wishes for the boy's pacifier, but under the circumstances figures Jason needs the comfort, so he doesn't interfere.

Derrek comes over and peeks at Jason. ". . . He sure as hell looks like Chip, doesn't he?"

Herc simply nods. Jason is calming, and inside Herc Chuck's drift phantom has finally calmed as well.

"Well, whether she's lying to you or not, I can at least understand why you believe her." Derrek sets his kit on the counter. "Shall we begin?"

Herc almost says no. If they break out the kit and get the samples, the supervisor will doubtless want them to leave as soon as they're done. He finds an excuse. "Let's hold off a bit longer. Till he's a little calmer."

Derrek shrugs. The supervisor looks annoyed, but Quentin is visibly relieved and blurts, "That'd be great. He's been crying all day."

Herc snorts. "Of course he has. You lot ripped him away from his mother. He's going to be traumatised."

"We had nothing to do with it," the supervisor sniffs.

"Guilty by association," Herc replies.

"Just give it a rest, Herc," Derrek chides. "It wouldn't have happened like this if Chip's information had been on the birth certificate to start with." Herc frowns, so he adds, "Nobody gives a good Goddamn about her reasons, Herc. Least of all the state. As far as the government is concerned, she's an illegal alien who attempted to justify her presence in Australia by having her baby here. And if the father turns out to be an Australian citizen, then Jason becomes a ward of the state. His mother will have to go."

Herc could not imagine how anyone could separate a child so young from his mother and act as though it was all right, let alone justified. "Go where?" Herc scoffs. "All of her ID melted in blue when her extended family's house was crushed by a dead kaiju." It occurs to him that she actually can go back to America, because Raleigh will be able to vouch for her now, but he isn't going to admit that yet. "I thought I signed to be her sponsor."

"New South Wales police isn't authorised to carry out tasks related to immigration. When I wrote 'sponsor' on that paper, I meant 'bailer.'"

"She's not going anywhere before Jason's in my custody," Herc says.

Derrek chuckles humorlessly. "Good luck with that, mate." He pulls on nitrile gloves and grabs a sealable plastic bag and a swab from the kit. "Now open your mouth."

* * *

Letting Quentin take Jason from him is one of the hardest things that Herc has ever had to do. Chuck's drift phantom rages inside him, insisting he do all sorts of violent, lethal things to get the toddler back. Reminders that Jason is perfectly safe at the facility and that Herc can do more faster if he's _outside_ a prison go ignored. It's only when Herc is in Derrek's car and they're on their way back to where Jazmine is being held that the phantom settles down, angry but ultimately impotent. Herc feels like pouting, and hopes he doesn't look as though he is.

"Jesus Christ, Herc," Derrek says, "you're acting like Chip."

Instead of explaining and risking his friend thinking he's crazy, Herc counters with, "Well, where did you think he got it?"

"His mum." Herc shoots a glare at Derrek, who snaps, "Your wife wasn't perfect, Hansen. There's only one perfect woman in this world, and _I_ married her."

The joke forces Herc to see his irrationality. He soothes Chuck's drift phantom the best he can. "Sorry."

"What's gotten into you, anyway?"

Herc decides there are some things he can admit. He looks out the passenger window of the car. "I thought I'd lost my family, Dezza. First my wife, then my son . . . Too slow to save her, too stupid to die with him . . ."

"Herc—"

"Oh, stuff it. I know all that survivor's guilt bullshit. Doesn't stop a man from going through it." He sighs. "I just didn't know what to do with myself after Hong Kong. What I do right now is something anyone could do, and three of them are right to hand. I'm not irreplaceable."

"Yeah, you are," Derrek answers, clearly unhappy. As a cop, he has education the average person would lack, and it's obvious he's picked up the nuance of Herc's carefully sculpted response. "But you're a big boy these days—it's not up to me to make decisions about your life."

Herc makes a disgusted noise. "I shouldn't have said anything—"

"You're a fuckhead, mate," Derrek tells him. He doesn't sound alarmed, so Herc figures it's something he had already considered and possibly even discussed with Darryl. "The world could certainly do with one fewer of those, so I'm not afraid to point that out. Keep talking."

"I'm just tired of losing my family," Herc concludes. "Even _you_ could understand that."

"You've staked a claim on the kid," Derrek reminds him. "He's not going to vanish. He has to stay at that facility until you relinquish that claim. And if there's a mix-up and he's fostered, the facility is required to document his location. It won't be hard to find him, whatever the case. As for his mother, she may or may not be allowed back, even if she has the right papers—the DHA can be strict about that. But if the kid's your grandson you'll at least get him, and then you can take him to his mother if that's what you want."

"He's a _baby_ ," Herc argues. "He's bloody two years old. He doesn't understand a damn thing other than what _he_ wants. And he wants his mum. If he can't have his mum, he wants me. And I just let strangers have him."

"He won't remember this when he's older, Herc."

Herc snorts. "Chuck wasn't even weaned to a bottle when I dropped him ten centimetres into his bed. He didn't remember it, but that didn't stop him from pleading with me to not drop him when he was older."

"He was just—"

"He never said it when his mother picked him up."

Derrek sighs. "Fine. If you need to do this to yourself, then . . . fine. Just . . . fine."

Herc rolls his eyes and starts to scrounge around in the car.

"What are you doing?"

"Durries," Herc grunts.

Derrek stops at a light and looks at him. "I'm not allowed to smoke on the clock. Why would I keep them in my patrol car?"

Herc pauses his search and straightens up to look his friend dead in the eyes. "Dezza, how long have we known each other, do you think?"

"'Bout thirty years and change?"

"Exactly." With that, Herc leans down and filches around under the driver's seat.

"People are going to think you're giving me a gobby, Hansen."

Herc is too old and too comfortable with himself to be intimidated by the implication. "I'm a tenured jaeger pilot and Marshal of the PPDC. It could only help your standing in society."

He finds the little box with the lighter held to it by a wide rubber band and sits up again. He gives the box's graphic images a cursory glance to check if he's seen them before—an unfortunate side benefit of witnessing in real life the dismemberment of brothers-in-arms is having little more than a morbid interest in pictures of diseased body parts—then flicks open the thin box and retrieves a cigarette, which he places in his mouth. He cracks the passenger window and lights up.

"Those are expensive," Derrek mutters.

Herc retrieves his wallet, fishes out a five, and throws it into his friend's lap.

Derrek throws it back, into his face. "Chip didn't like it when you smoked."

"If he were dead, his opinion wouldn't matter. Oh, wait . . ."

Derrek sighs. "Mate, I worry about you."

Herc slouches a bit in his seat and doesn't answer either his friend or Chuck's drift phantom, which is none too happy with him either.

* * *

Jazmine is devastated when Herc returns but doesn't have Jason with him.

"I did find him," he tells her as she's freed from her cell, hating the knowledge that he put the tears in her eyes. "I even held him. He's a little upset, but he's all right."

"It's possible to expedite the testing," Derrek says as he pulls on another set of nitrile gloves. "It'll cost a little more, but if you want it, we can arrange it." He grabs another bag and swab and turns to face Jazmine. "Open your mouth, love."

Jazmine's head recoils into Raleigh's chest. She gives Derrek a look-over. "The fuck?"

"It's for the paternity test."

"Then what do you need to rub _my_ mouth for?"

"Including the mother in the genetic testing increases the accuracy of the test results," Derrek explains. "By knowing your markers too, the labs can determine which ones in your son came from you and which ones didn't. Under the circumstances, it's necessary for a legal determination of paternity."

Jazmine grimaces, but after a glance at Herc opens her mouth and allows Derrek to swab it.

When he finishes, Derrek drops the swab into a sample bag and seals it. As he pulls his gloves off, he says, "There's an additional fee to test another child, but it's small. If you wait, you'll pay full price."

" _What_?" Jazmine demands.

"If you want your son back," Derrek explains, "you need to prove he has family here in Australia. If you don't, you'll definitely be deported and he'll become a ward of the state. You'll probably never see him again."

Jazmine stiffens. Raleigh wraps her in a bear hug and murmurs something in French into her hair.

Derrek looks at Herc. "If you want. As a professional, and knowing what I do about you and Chip and all the mad cunts out there, I strongly recommend it. Especially with Chip gone, there's a high probability someone will challenge his paternity for some reason or another. If not in regards to Jason, in regards to the other." He looks again at Jazmine. "You're already going to be hated for being here illegally, no matter your reason. Not doing this would further smear your reputation and risk backlash from the crazies."

Herc looks at Jazmine's abdomen. She's about to pop, and he worries that any further stress could send her into labor. "Can it be done safely?"

"Yeah. I don't have the equipment for it, so we'll have to go to a pathology lab, but I can call the people we send our samples to and they can take some blood from her. I don't know how, but apparently fetal DNA does get into the mother's bloodstream somehow, and the labs can separate them. It won't hurt the baby at all."

Herc nods. "Let's do that, then."

"Thanks for asking," Jazmine snarls.

Herc looks at her. "It's not for me. It's for everyone else."

" _Thanks for asking_ ," she hisses again, looking from him to Derrek. "I haven't done a damn thing wrong in all my time here, and the one time I defend myself and my children I get jailed, my son is taken from me as though I'm a hazard to his health, and everything I own is impounded under the pretext of evidence collection, with the intent to sell it off to the highest bidder at the earliest possible opportunity. Fuck all of you."

"You _did_ break the law," Derrek points out.

She glares. "I'm not a fucking felon, asshole. I didn't fight when they came for me, I didn't fight when they abducted my child, I didn't fight when they tore apart my home looking for God knows what, I didn't lie when they interrogated me. I don't deserve to be treated with this level of disrespect just for living quietly in this country and contributing fully to its economy. I own a business and I pay taxes too, Goddamn it, with no hope of return on the investment. How can a fucking piece of paper mean more about my ability to live here responsibly than what I've actually been doing while living here the past three years?"

She turns away, but Raleigh doesn't let her go. He just tightens his arms around her, rests his chin on her head, and gently says something in French.

Herc looks at Derrek. "I want her possessions back. And I'm not paying a quid in release fees."

Derrek sighs. "That's Home Affairs, Herc. Take it up with them."

"Forget it," Jazmine says into Raleigh's shoulder. "Nothing matters. Nothing matters except my children."

* * *

There are two vehicles—one a car, the other a box truck—from the Department of Home Affairs outside the duplex when Herc pulls into his drive. He spots Jazmine's computer tower right outside her front door and decides to retrieve it. Once the truck is parked, he hands his keys to Jazmine and tells her to go inside. There's nothing she can do, so there's no reason for her to loiter and agonize about her possessions.

"Don't do anything stupid," she says.

"I'm a grown man," Herc counters, but before he can say more to reassure her, Raleigh adds from the back, "It's what we do. So, you know, _watch this_."

Jazmine turns in the front seat to glare at her brother. " _You_ may get arrested, for all I care."

It's a brutal, unfeeling statement, but Raleigh only snickers and leans around the seat back to kiss her cheek before opening the rear passenger door and sliding out.

"You get her computer," Herc mutters as they approach Jazmine's half of the duplex. "Stay out of trouble." Herc knows he'll get away with pushing in a way a foreigner wouldn't.

Fortunately, Raleigh doesn't argue. When he gets to the stoop he calmly bends down to pick up the tower, then turns and calmly walks toward Herc's front door. No idiotic and suspicious furtiveness. Herc waits until he's out of sight before quietly walking into Jazmine's half of the duplex and surveying the damage.

They've pretty much gutted the house—or at least the main room. Her furniture is gone, and someone is in the kitchen cleaning out the cupboards, completely oblivious to his presence. Herc strolls to the hall and peeks into the remaining rooms. They're mostly untouched, though all the big items like Jazmine's bed are gone. Herc steps into Jason's room, where a man is digging through the toddler's clothes as though he's expecting to find something, and grabs the diaper bag.

The man jumps and looks at him. "Jesu— What the hell are you doing in here?"

Herc reaches past him, grabs a fistful of Jason's clothes, and shoves them into the diaper bag on top of the supplies already there. He stares the man down while he does it. "My grandson is going to need these."

" _Your_ grandson?"

Herc jams another fistful of clothing into the bag. "This is my daughter-in-law's home." Sort of. Jazmine isn't such legally, but Chuck had proposed to her. Herc knows Chuck wouldn't have made such a decision lightly, and Chuck's drift phantom seems to hold her at a level of regard that's high enough to imply that he saw her as his wife—or at least someone he wanted to stay with for a very, very long time—even before there was a hint about Hong Kong.

Jason's wardrobe isn't that big; Herc manages to cram all of it into the bag. He picks up some of Jason's smaller toys and forces those into the bag as well. Herc finds another bag in a drawer of the changing table, and it's Christmas at that point. He packs it full of clothing too small for Jason's current age—the toddler won't need them, but the baby will—more toys and stuffed animals, and leaves enough room for any bathtub toys. He then crosses the hall into Jazmine's room. All he wants from there is one item, really, but he'll take more if he can.

The man follows him from Jason's room and is joined by a woman—possibly the person who had been in the kitchen. Herc ignores them both as they loudly discuss his presence, as though he's supposed to care when he's already completely disregarded DHA authority by entering the house and collecting items while they watch.

He opens the door to Jazmine's bedroom closet, looks around, and snags from its hook Chuck's old ranger jacket. Once he's sure he won't drop it, he pulls some of her blouses and business suits down. He then moves to a nearby chest of drawers and collects sets of panties, hose, socks, and jeans. Bras. Tee-shirts. He can't help himself and even takes two tee-shirts and two pairs of jeans that are obviously for a man. Chuck's. It's enough of a reason. His left arm is starting to hurt from all the weight on it, so he stops and moves toward the bedroom door.

"You can't take those items," the woman tells him. "They don't belong to you."

"I don't see that fact stopping you," Herc counters. "If you really give a damn about her property, stop me."

They don't. Of course they don't. It's no skin off their noses and isn't worth fighting over, because they're going to deport Jazmine if they can in any way manage it, and then her possessions will be theirs to sell or donate.

On his way out he detours to the bathroom and tucks a few of Jason's items into the second diaper bag. He then walks out the front door, the DHA people following behind and scolding him like magpies that are angry about a human being near their nest. Outside, Herc gets the last—but most discreet—laugh.

"Where's the computer?" the man asks.

Herc pauses and turns, feigning interest. "What computer?"

"There was a CPU here," is the response from the man. Both he and woman look alarmed. "A tower for a desktop computer."

Herc raises one eyebrow. "You're letting her personal property be stolen in the name of Canberra? Good on ya. I'll be sure to let her know." He turns away and heads for his own front door. "Fucking muppets."

Raleigh has obviously been watching for him, because the door opens without him having to reach for it. "Score," the younger man says, in observation of Herc's bounty. "You have gargantuan brass ones, sir."

Herc doesn't respond. He fishes Chuck's jacket out of the pile, drops the rest, and lifts it over the back of the couch to Jazmine. She snatches it away and hugs it tightly, burying her nose in the faux fur collar.

"I've locked the doors," Raleigh reports.

Herc nods and glances at him. "Thanks." He focuses on Jazmine. "Most of what I got is Jason's. I found his baby clothes and packed some of his toys. I got some of your clothes too." He makes a noise of disappointment as he realizes he forgot something. "I didn't grab any shoes for you. Fuck." Jason's had been in one of the drawers in his room, easy to notice and collect.

Jazmine shakes her head and looks up at him. She holds out her hands to indicate Chuck's ranger jacket and says, "This would have been enough. Thank you."

"I want you to sleep in my room for now," he tells her, voice firm. "If they decide to break down my door, I want to be the first person they find."

She nods and hugs Chuck's jacket again.

* * *

They do come, several times over the course of the next two weeks, but Herc makes sure he's the only one who answers the door. He tells whoever is on the other side that he hasn't stolen any property, and if they argue he points out that he just collected it for use by the owner, which isn't stealing. Jazmine is still paranoid, however, and squirrels some of the items out of sight. Not everything, as that would be too obvious, but she's clearly hoping that if they do eventually have to give up what he rescued they can give over most of it as a sacrifice and the collectors will be satisfied with that; since there's no indication the contents of her home were itemized, there's a strong chance the gambit will work.

The DHA doesn't pursue the matter for long, and Herc knows that once they give up they'll have given up for good. They don't give a damn, and Herc and Jazmine both know it. Jazmine is just being cautious.

Raleigh returns to Anchorage after a week, and Herc's glad. It's been clear that the younger man has been getting more and more irritated about how his sister is being treated, and having to bail him out, too, wouldn't help Jazmine's cause. Raleigh seems to recognize that fact as well, and retreats to America with promises to get copies of her identification and send them along.

All of Jazmine's liquid assets have been frozen, too, leaving her without a coin to her name. It's a hard blow to her dignity to accept what she calls "charity," but Herc doesn't see that she could have avoided her current circumstances without being able to contact someone who could help her get new identification. Plus, from what she's told him she'd already attempted to do that and been utterly rebuffed by the American consulate in Canberra. Without someone willing to pursue the matter fulltime and a need for money, she really hadn't had much choice but to go on being illegal and hope no one noticed.

In any case, Herc doesn't mind opening a new bank account in his name for her to use.

"But the taxes . . ." she protests.

"We'll work it out when the time comes," he soothes.

With that settled, Jazmine is able to get back to work. Herc insists she save what she can and let him deal with everything else.

"I'd be paying the same amount of money anyway," he points out. "Doesn't matter whether it's just me or both of us. You just use your money to buy your own clothes and anything else you need for you."

* * *

Jazmine is the one who has to go grocery shopping, however. Her car—unregistered, of course—has been impounded by the DHA, so even knowing she's unlicensed Herc gives her the keys to his truck, which he'd moved to its usual place in his garage. She sees his motorcycle for the first time and shows a little too much interest in it, and Herc warns her that as long as she's pregnant he's not going to give her permission to borrow it, so if she takes it he'll consider it stolen.

She doesn't argue, only asks, "Later?"

He doesn't like the idea at all. Motorcycles are by their nature more dangerous than cars, the motorcyclist is more exposed, and it risks Jason and the baby losing their mother at young enough ages that they both end up not remembering either of their parents. "You licenced?"

Of course not, in Australia, but . . .

"In America," she answers. "Since I was seventeen or eighteen. I think seventeen for me, and Raleigh was eighteen. We got licensed around the same time. Yancy took care of Raleigh and me after our parents were gone; he wouldn't let either of us get licensed for a motorcycle before we'd driven a car for a few years already." She snorts. "Raleigh wasn't interested until I said I was, and then he didn't want to be the only one of us who wasn't."

Herc nods absently. For the unfortunately short time he knew the kid, Yancy seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. And Jazmine deserved credit, too, for respecting his decision. Chuck wouldn't have. _Hadn't_ , in fact. He'd taken Herc's bike without permission and blasted all around the RAAF base they lived on at the time to celebrate getting back from Kodiak Island; some inconsiderate dick up north had taught him how to ride. In the end, though, Herc is just glad the little idiot hadn't gone onto the main roads at fifteen and killed someone. Or himself. If there'd been any other problem, Herc probably could have smoothed it over the with base security.

"You'll get the baby on solid foods first," he decides. "Then we'll talk about it." With most of her money trapped in limbo there's no way she'll have enough to buy her own bike, which means Herc can set the rules. He has no interest in raising his grandchildren solo, but if the worst should happen then he at least feels confident that he'll be able to handle it if both are eating foods with substance.

He simply can't bring himself to tell her no absolutely. He enjoys riding, his wife enjoyed riding with him, Chuck enjoyed riding, and Chuck's drift phantom lets him know Chuck had known Jazmine could ride and wanted to share that with her.

It makes Herc's heart ache. So much time lost, so many one-day-soons that will never happen . . .

Forget him and Chuck—it should have been him and Stacker. It should have been two middle-aged men who'd already lived as much of their lives as they really needed to. Who'd more or less outlived their usefulness to society and had little more to offer. It should have been Chuck who'd been the impatient know-it-all and gotten his arm and collarbone broken. It should have happened that way. At least that way would have made more sense.

"What did he do it for?" he asks. Maybe himself, maybe Jazmine, maybe just the garage. It's a somewhat rhetorical question, because he knows the answer, but he wonders if it's really so worth it—to sacrifice one's life for that reason, or if it'd be acceptable to potentially sacrifice the world for a little more personal time.

"His reason," Jazmine says as she stares at the motorcycle. Perhaps she's thinking of Chuck, too, if he'd voiced to her his desire for them to ride together. "Whatever that was. He was an adult, and it was his choice. All of it. It was what he thought was right. We don't have to like it, but we have to respect it."

She's right enough. "We'll ride together first. Let you get back into it slowly." He doesn't know exactly how long it's been since she was last on a bike, but from what he knows of her history it's been at least three years. He wants to be sure of her readiness before he lets her on a bike by herself.

She snorts again, but says with good humor, "Okay, Mom." And she lets the matter rest there.

* * *

It's not too long after Jazmine leaves that the doorbell rings.

It's Derrek. He's grinning.

"Don't do that," Herc tells him. "You look half mad."

Derrek lifts a manila envelope between them, keeping it just low enough that Herc can see his eyes over it. "The results are in."

Herc doesn't need them. But since it's been done, he wants to see it printed on paper. "Did you look?"

"No."

Herc snatches the envelope and turns away. "You're a shit liar, Dezza."

Derrek laughs and skitters in behind him, leaving the front door open so the air conditioning and midday heat will trade places. "Swear to God! But my blue sense is telling me it's good news—I can't help it!"

Herc unclips the bracket and finds that the flap is indeed sealed still. He glances at Derrek, then peels it up and pulls out the papers inside. He scans the gibberish on each one a few times until he finds the important parts.

His heart lunges into his throat and his eyes sting with tears he won't shed in front of his friend.

Derrek, who's looking over his shoulder like any nosy prick would do, lets out a hoon's whoop and shakes him hard enough to make his teeth rattle. "Congratulations, you lucky bastard! You're a granddad!"

Twice over.

As Derrek blathers about stealing his thunder and breaking the news to Darryl, Herc's heart settles into its usual place, soothed by the knowledge. He believed before, but now there is no room to argue anymore. No one can convince him that there's any reason to doubt. Because he _does_ know, for certain.

Derrek leans around him and takes the papers from his lax grip. "I've looked at these before, so I think . . . Ah!" He turns the paper toward Herc and says, "See here? This is the Y chromosome . . . code, or whatever. It gets passed unchanged from father to son. So you and your dad had the same Y chromosome, you and your brother had the same Y chromosome, you and Chuck had the same Y chromosome, your brother and Chuck had the same Y chromosome, and Chuck and Jason had the same Y chromosome. Anyone could have taken a sample of your dad's DNA and Jason's to compare, and it'd still be the same Y chromosome. It doesn't change. If this matches, there's no question." He flicks through the other pages, pauses on one, and looks it over. ". . . Ah . . ." He gives Herc another wide, slightly more mischievous, grin. "This one doesn't have a Y chromosome."

It takes a second for his exact meaning to filter into Herc's brain. When he understands, he says, "Thanks for ruining the surprise, you inconsiderate knob."

Derrek thrusts the papers into his hands and skips toward the door as he announces, "I'm calling Darryl!"

"Now wait a second. Don't you want these?"

"The government has its copies!" is the response. "Those are yours! I'm still on the clock, so bye!"

With that, Derrek pulls the front door firmly shut. He must be out to his cruiser by the time he gets a hold of Darryl, but Herc still hears him shout, "They're his, you daft cunt! They're his! _He's a granddad_!"

Herc makes a mental note to apologize for Darryl's shattered eardrum, because Derrek never will.

Once Derrek's car has roared out of earshot, Herc's knees buckle. He catches himself on the nearer arm of his couch and directs himself to fall into his recliner. He looks at the papers he's still holding. He can't see the print without turning them over, but he doesn't have to. The enduring presence of the papers is proof enough.

A grandson. A granddaughter. Grandchildren.

Chuck's children.

Herc's breath catches and he closes his eyes. A few tears make their escape and fall.

He'd give it up. He'd gladly give up all possible knowledge of his grandchildren and exchange his life for Chuck's so that Chuck could be there instead—see his son again, meet his daughter, be a father to them. Herc could make that sacrifice. Easily. Oh so easily.

He just doesn't understand why _he_ keeps getting saddled with an aspect of parenting he isn't ready for or good at; first it was raising his son alone, a task at which he'd fucked up merrily, and now it's being a father to his grandkids when he couldn't even be a proper father to his son.

Chuck's drift phantom gives him a mental jab to jostle him from his self-pity. Herc jumps to his feet and heads for the garage, only to turn around. He grabs the manila envelope from the coffee table, finds Jason's papers, and slides them into the envelope which he folds a few times, shoves into the rear of the waistband of his jeans, and then tucks his tee-shirt carefully around. The baby's papers he leaves on the table for safekeeping. He completes his trip to the garage, opens the garage door, wheels his motorcycle out, and leaves it idling while he collects his helmet and closes the garage door. He checks the laces of his steel-toed boots for adequate tightness, tucks them into his boots so nothing gets caught on the motorcycle, secures his helmet on his head, swings his leg over the bike's saddle, heels up the kickstand, and sets off.

* * *

Herc hasn't been back to the childcare facility since he'd been there with Derrek; he wasn't enthused about the idea of struggling to say goodbye over and over again to a child far too young to understand adult politics, and he also hadn't been stupid enough to think he'd be allowed to see Jason alone. He isn't even sure he'll be allowed to see Jason now, but he has the papers, and the papers have the phone number of the testing place on them. When he gets to the front desk of the facility he invites the supervisor to call the labs and confirm the papers' legitimacy. She does so without hesitation.

"This is _highly_ irregular procedure," she tells him as she sets the phone down, "but Jason isn't doing well. I'll let you see him if you convince him to eat."

"Done."

Jason looks even more disheveled than before, and it's clear that he hasn't done a lot of eating. He screams when he sees Herc, and the supervisor hands him over without making further demands. Jason clings to Herc's shirt and sobs into the fabric. Herc sways them both gently and tries to shush him, but his success is limited. Jason makes it clear that he believes Herc is going to leave again.

"Is there somewhere quiet we can lie down for a bit?" Herc asks the supervisor, figuring that the toddler's as tired as he is hungry.

She shows him to a playroom of some sort. It's currently empty. "We have some mats—"

"For me?" Herc prompts, feeling Jason knead his shirt collar with little hands. "He won't want one."

"Er, no . . ."

She does get him a chair, though. It's uncomfortable, but Herc's able to find a position he can maintain for a while. He crosses his legs at the knee and stacks his arms in his lap against his stomach, effectively bracing Jason's weight. He speaks gently to the toddler, kisses the boy's head, and offers a few comforting hugs. Eventually, Jason drifts into a light sleep. Very light—his hands are still clutching Herc's shirt. But it's something.

Herc leans on what he remembers of Chuck's toddlerhood and makes some small talk with the supervisor. The combination of his heartbeat and voice drags Jason into a deeper, more restful sleep, and the toddler's grip on his shirt weakens. It's enough that when Herc gets uncomfortable, he can reposition without waking his grandson. He continues speaking with the supervisor; with the confirmation of relation, she's open about Jason's struggles.

"He's not well socialised," she observes.

"No, he isn't," Herc concedes. "My daughter-in-law told me as much, but until the state took him away we felt it was more important for him to get used to me. The way that things happened, I was . . . left out . . . until a few months ago. Jason and I had never met. Since my son's gone my daughter-in-law wanted him to be comfortable with me before she let him meet anyone else. He has yet to meet his uncle even."

The supervisor clucks. "Terrible . . ."

Herc refrains from snapping at her. She has no idea. "Keeping Jason out of the public eye was something that my son agreed was necessary for his safety. Chuck and I were both targets of cult extremists, and he didn't want Jason to end up a target as well. I'm sure you, given your job here, can appreciate that."

After two hours of peaceful napping, Jason wakes with a violent start. He looks up sharply at Herc, who smiles at him and says, "Sleep well?" Jason grabs fistfuls of shirt again and presses his face into Herc's chest. He chokes on a little sob. Herc hugs him and soothes, "It's all right. You're all right . . ."

"Mummy . . ."

Herc sighs. "Mummy still can't be here, Jay. I'm sorry. But she wants to see you again, very much."

When Jason calms, the supervisor offers to bring food.

"Can you feed me too?" Herc asks, figuring Jason will be more likely to eat if he does.

The supervisor seems to understand. She nods and excuses herself.

Unfortunately, Herc fares little better getting the toddler to eat. Jason seems convinced for some reason that if he eats too much Herc will leave him behind again.

"I'm going to speak to his caseworker," the supervisor says. "It's not standard procedure to return a child before the courts say so, but I feel that under the circumstances Jason's needs have to be put first and foremost. His caseworker and I can draw up some early-release papers; you'll sign them and then be free to take him home, so long as you return him if you're told to."

"Will do," Herc promises, though he isn't sure he actually would, if it came to it. "When will this be?"

"Tomorrow, at the earliest."

Herc grimaces. It means saying good bye to Jason.

* * *

Herc stays as long as he can, but when the supervisor gently tells Herc he has to leave, he understands that it's time to go. Jason, however, definitely won't have it. The toddler shrieks his fury and panic and tries to clutch at Herc, but Herc holds Jason at arm's length and allows the supervisor take him away. Somehow, Jason manages to scream louder still, every centimeter of visible skin bright red.

Herc turns his back without trying to explain. Jason's too young to understand.

Chuck's drift phantom is equally infuriated, though it expresses its frustration through what would have been violent behavior had it not been in Herc's head. Herc tries to soothe it, reminding it that he'll call first thing in the morning to make sure the ball is rolling on the early release.

The drift phantom calms adequately by the time Herc gets back home. He discovers the truck in the garage and finds Jazmine in the kitchen, working on supper. Herc isn't planning to say anything about the paternity test, primarily because _he_ has never been in doubt, but she says, "I see the results are in."

"The government won't have much choice but to accept it," he replies. She pauses and looks back at him for a long moment, and he feels a creeping irritation. "I never doubted you."

Without offering anything that might pass as an apology, she refocuses on the food and says, "Jason will at least have you, then."

"There must be some sort of loophole . . ."

"I've already spoken to Evelyn. I'm not holding my breath."

Herc narrows his eyes at the baby's papers on the coffee table. Jazmine might be resigned to deportation, but he isn't planning to let her go that easily.

* * *

 **To Be Continued in . . .** **Chapter 7** **– The Bumps in the Road**

"The man was an _Australian national_."

"Fuck's sake!" Herc snarls. He's rewarded with a massive dig in his ribs from Darryl's elbow. "I don't care if he was the second coming of Jesus! He _trespassed_ and _forced entry_ into her home!"

"Mister Hansen," the judge says, calm, "you will edit your language and refrain from any further outbursts or you will be held in contempt of court and _barred_ entry here."

Thanks to Chuck's drift phantom giving unnecessary encouragement, Herc almost says, "Whatever." The only thing that stops him is a fear of being separated from Jazmine and Jason. For that reason, he's able to hold his tongue for the rest of the day. But only barely.

* * *

 **Answers To Questions You Didn't Even Know You Wanted To Ask:**

" _People are going to think you're giving me a_ _gobby_ _, Hansen."_

There really isn't much context for this if you don't already know what it is—a gobby is a blowjob. If you don't know what a blowjob is, I can't help you.

—

 _He gives the box's graphic images a cursory glance to check if he's seen them before … then flicks open the thin box and retrieves a cigarette,_

Effectiveness notwithstanding, Australia has the most fascinatingly grotesque anti-smoking campaign I've ever seen. If you're curious, search for "australia cigarette packaging." But be warned, the images are _extremely graphic_ ; my description of the boxes is completely accurate—possibly even understates the level of gruesomeness. If you're easily sickened, then for the love of puppies and kittens, _don't_ look.

—

… _the Department of Home Affairs …_ (or _DHA_ )

I'm going to keep it real: Given that this is a fanfic, while accuracy is important I'm still not going to do massive amounts of research. I think you all will understand what I mean when I say I'll do whatever I feel like doing, which may be more than necessary, exactly what's necessary, or what will at least set up a believable scenario. This is for both my sanity and your engagement. And since _Pacific Rim_ takes place in a future that (so far) hasn't happened yet, I have some leeway.

That said, the DHA is a real part of Australia's government. Part of it was previously known as the Department of Immigration and Border Protection (DIBP), which was literally just folded into the DHA this past December—after I'd finished this fic, so you can imagine how annoyed I was to discover that—after only four years of life (it's changed names several times since the 1940s).

That's pretty much where the accuracy in this fic ends; however, while I've mostly taken liberties with Jazmine's situation, there is a measure of truth in the way it's being handled. Australia, especially in recent years, has an unfortunate reputation for treating illegal immigrants in particular very poorly. Current terraforming technology and expense means that Australia's interior is still largely uninhabitable so resources are limited, which has arguably led to immigration regulations being extremely strict and aggressively enforced (which excuses nothing, but it's not completely without explanation). With that in mind, and taking into account the strain the kaiju would put on any country's resources, I've come up with what might otherwise seem like uncalled-for treatment of Jazmine.

The above shouldn't be taken as any sort of political statement—the U.S. and the UK, for example, also have current examples of absolutely despicable treatment of immigrants and/or refugees, and still other countries are also taking advantage of these vulnerable groups. But as this fic takes place entirely in Australia, Australia's flaws are as important to consider as its perfections.

—

… _lets out a_ _hoon's_ _whoop and shakes him hard enough to make his teeth rattle._

"Hoon" is a derogatory slang term most readers probably won't recognize; it's used primarily in Australia and New Zealand—though I've seen it in the title of a UK video on YouTube—and its modern definition typically identifies any person who operates any vehicle (on public roadways) at high speeds and/or in an unsafe manner. If your vehicle is unnecessarily loud, you're still likely to be considered a hoon by virtue of the association of loud engines/exhausts with the driving habits of wannabe street racers. It's also a verb, so you can be a hoon who hoons.

A related term that might be more familiar to Americans is "hoonigan"—a portmanteau of "hoon" and "hooligan" that to me seems largely redundant, since if you're one you're probably also the other—which is used by an American rally team and for which I can find no other usage. Contrary to what much of the Internet seems to think, there's no indication that "hoonigan" came first.

—

If you find this fic to be somewhat fine, please take the time to drop me a line!

~RN (LS)


	7. The Bumps in the Road

**Word Count:** 8,830 ( **Total:** 61,758)

 **Rating:** T for language and some light sexual situations (all clothing stays on, but those who are squeamish about age gaps beware)

 **Date Submitted:** 2/16/18

* * *

 **Chapter 7** **– The Bumps in the Road**

* * *

The next morning, after breakfast, Herc calls the childcare facility and asks to speak to the supervisor. The woman tells him Jason had a bad night that kept his roommate and all the children in the surrounding rooms awake, and assures him that she and Jason's caseworker are already pushing the early-release papers through.

"I'll ring you back when they're done," she says.

Herc thanks her and waits impatiently, unable to concentrate on anything else. Eventually, the call comes, and Herc is gone without telling Jazmine—who's been working in a spare room—what's going on. It's only on the way that he realizes he doesn't have a child seat installed in his truck, and that he's probably not going to be allowed to take Jason if the supervisor discovers that.

So he detours to a nearby shop and peruses the child car seats. Chuck's drift phantom is at a complete loss, which tells Herc that shopping for Jason's first car seat was something Jazmine had done alone. Fortunately, while Herc was not with his wife when she had purchased Chuck's first car seat, he _was_ with her for the purchases of the subsequent seats and has an idea of what he's looking at and for. He studies a three-in-one deluxe model, figuring that by the time Jason outgrows it, his sister will be big enough to fit it.

"Having trouble finding something?"

Herc glances to his right, where a store employee is standing. The man has a badge that identifies him as a "Baby Expert," but given his youth—he looks like he's probably an unusually tall teenager—Herc seriously doubts it. There are times when Herc doesn't even consider _himself_ to have any real experience with kids, simply because he only ever had one of his own, which had made assigning blame for things like broken items and crayon-decorated walls extremely easy.

The thought triggers the remembrance of a fact Herc put aside for decades and avoided until he forgot it—that his wife was pregnant when Scissure made landfall. Pregnant with their third child after miscarrying the second. Herc never told Chuck about the two siblings who never were, and the drift phantom's lack of reaction to either revelation suggests that Chuck—who might have been sad about the losses, angry about not being told sooner, or both—apparently never picked up on them in the drift.

Well, it's much too late to regret it. Perhaps Chuck not revealing Jason's existence is more fair than Herc originally thought.

"I'm trying to find a seat for my grandson," he tells the employee.

They briefly discuss Herc's truck, and the first stumbling block is encountered when Herc's asked Jason's height and weight. ". . . I don't actually know," he admits. "It's a long story, but suffice it to say I've only just met him. He's two years old and will be three in a month or so."

Unlike the supervisor at the childcare facility, the young man tactfully doesn't indicate what his feelings on Herc's absence from Jason's life are. "Would you say he's of an average size for his age?"

Herc considers that, trying to compare Jason to a twenty-three-year-old memory of Chuck. Chuck had been a late bloomer, however; it never bothered Herc, whose brother had been exactly the same but grown to be slightly bigger than him, but it bothered Chuck until the Jaeger Academy. The academy proved so demanding that Chuck's hormones had panicked and finally done what they should have at least once by then, and Chuck had returned home proud of his new—if a touch gangly—dimensions. The lankiness had gone in short order, though, and left behind a creature of great dexterity and surprising elegance.

When he wanted to be those things, at least, and not just a bull in a china shop.

Herc scratches the back of his neck. "Well, my son and my brother were both late starters, so he might be a bit smaller than average."

The young man helps him find a car seat he feels comfortable with, and after some more discussion Herc buys a minimalist stroller as well; unlike the car seat, the stroller is not likely to need special consideration beyond folding quickly and neatly to fit into tight places. No need for a deluxe model for that.

He puts the stroller in the bed of his truck and spends at least half an hour in the heat reading instructions for the car seat. They make no sense. He puts the car seat in the back of the cab anyway and finishes the trip to the childcare facility. When he explains the situation to the supervisor, she bustles right out and shows him how to put the car seat in properly.

"Thanks," he says, a bit embarrassed at how simple it turns out to be.

"You'll never hear a peep out of me," she replies. "A child's life is more important than an adult's ego. I respect anyone who shows that."

Herc follows the supervisor inside, and she tells the receptionist to provide him with the paperwork while she retrieves Jason. He signs what the other woman tells him to sign and then waits. In a few minutes the supervisor returns with a woman who's holding Jason, who's crying horrible, hoarse, hiccupping sobs. He's too weak to push away from her anymore, and instead just lets his head lay on her shoulder. When he sees Herc, he gets a little energy back and straightens up to reach out.

" _Daddy_!"

The woman lets Herc have his grandson, and the reunion is probably a sight, but Herc can't be bothered to care as he soothes Jason gently.

"You don't have to cry anymore, Jay—I've got you. We're going to go home."

"This is Bernice Yara," the supervisor says, indicating the new woman, "Jason's caseworker."

Herc doesn't like her, partly because he doesn't like that she's a barrier between him and his grandson, but mostly because Chuck's drift phantom doesn't like her a bit. Chuck and Herc dealt with a caseworker before—Chuck's, because a huge stink was raised a decade ago about Herc being a Jaeger pilot and possibly dying and leaving his son an orphan—and while Felicity Foster was nothing but kind and patient, her presence just wasn't something the Hansen men were worried about tolerating. Through his teenage years, Chuck resented her for what she symbolized—the power to take him from his home and father—and even when he reached his majority and she was no longer an authority he never forgave her. That resentment is definitely spilling over again.

Bernice gives Herc a once-over that Herc finds deeply irritating. "I don't like this," she tells him.

Herc is unmoved. "I don't care. If you keep my grandson from me the stress will kill him. I'm not going to let you do that."

"You're to bring him back if the court decides it."

Chuck's drift phantom scoffs, but Herc is much wiser. "Of course I will. And should he cark it as a result, I'll have the heads of everyone involved. Starting with you."

That said, he turns and strolls from the building. Jason huddles into his shoulder and sucks one thumb. Herc shushes him softly, kisses his head, and hums a lullaby that had once upon a time put the toddler's father to sleep in short order. At the truck, Herc doesn't even try to place Jason in the car seat. He chooses instead to sit in the driver's seat, recline the back, and run the air conditioning. Jason hiccups a little more, but at last drifts off. Obviously, Herc can't drive like that, so he closes his eyes against the sun.

Half an hour later, Herc awakens with a sore neck. He quickly gets the truck running to spare the battery and sits for another moment before looking down at Jason. The toddler is extremely asleep and drooling on Herc's shirt. Very slowly, Herc rights the seat and exits the truck; he crosses to the rear passenger door, opens it as quietly as he can, and eases his grandson into the car seat. Securing the five-point harness is time-consuming because it has to be done as carefully and silently as possible, but eventually it's over. Herc pushes the truck door to, then gives it a tiny shove to make it click into place. The truck rocks, but fortunately the car seat offers enough padding that Jason isn't jostled by it and so doesn't wake. With that done, getting back in the truck and leaving is much quicker.

* * *

Jason wakes up part of the way home. Herc hears about it immediately and has to pull into the emergency lane of the highway so he can twist around in his seat and offer comfort.

"Oï, oï," he calls, and reaches back with his left hand to take Jason's. "Don't cry, Jay. I'm right here."

Jason, who can't see him because of the high walls of the rear-facing car seat that provide protection from side impact, clutches his hand in a death grip. "Daddy!"

Clearly, Herc isn't going anywhere yet. He secures the truck, unbuckles with his right hand, and contorts himself over the center console and halfway into the back. He peers into the car seat and smiles at his grandson. "Hey there, Jay. See? You're all right now."

Jason lets go with one hand to suck his thumb some more. He's clearly still very stressed.

"We're going to go home," Herc tells him. "Mummy's waiting. But you have to let me go so I can drive."

There's hesitation, but Jason finally releases him. Herc strokes the toddler's head a few times, then pats his shins gently and says, "Off we go," before resituating himself, buckling up, and getting back on the road.

Other than an occasional, tentative "Daddy?" Jason is quiet for the remainder of the trip. Herc, starving, decides to run through a fast-food drive-thru and buy himself a meal even though it's practically lunch time and they aren't that far from home; he devours the burger in about three and half bites and then shares his fries and tea with his grandson.

He disposes of the evidence when he stops for fuel, and plays with a much happier Jason while he's waiting for the tank to fill. Then they're off again for the final leg of the journey.

* * *

Jason doesn't have the energy to get too excited about being home. In fact, he's quite lethargic now that he knows he's safe with family. Herc takes him inside, settles in the recliner, and pulls the corner of a throw over his back before turning on the television and settling in for some well-earned vegetation. Jazmine will find them in due time, and that's good enough.

* * *

Herc awakens to squirming, then flinches when Jason shouts, " _Mummy_!"

"Shh!" Jazmine scolds in response. Jason's weight vanishes from Herc's chest. Once more applying to her voice the Australian inflection she dropped after Jason was taken, she adds, "Don't wake your granddaddy!"

"Too late," Herc says, yawning. He thinks Jazmine might say something else, but she doesn't, and when he looks for her he sees her standing by his recliner, holding Jason tightly, staring unseeing through the far wall.

"I didn't make you any lunch," she eventually tells the toddler. "Would you like to help Mummy make you something to eat?" Jason nods against her shoulder, his thumb again in his mouth. Jazmine turns away and begins to sing in French a familiar children's song; after a moment, Herc recognizes the tune as "You Are My Sunshine."

Chuck's drift phantom is surprised. Apparently, Jazmine—so proud of her French heritage—had in the past only ever sung traditional French children's songs. The English ones had been left to Chuck.

Probably, Herc figures, singing an English song in French is the compromise that Jazmine decided on when Chuck went to Hong Kong.

"Oï, don't fix him anything," he calls toward the kitchen as he remembers his fast-food stop. "On the way home I got a meal at Macca's and split it with him. We can share mine."

"Ah," Jazmine says, clearly to Jason, "Granddaddy's spoiling your meals and teaching you bad habits. That didn't take long at all."

The comment brings a smile to Herc's face. He didn't intend it, but that really is what he did.

"In that case lunch is ready, so come on over."

Jason's high chair is gone thanks to the DHA, so since they're sharing Herc's meal, Jason gets to sit in his granddad's lap. It provides an opportunity for the two to bond more, which they most definitely do.

Jazmine sits nearby and, with no need to supervise her son, takes her time eating.

* * *

Herc's next self-appointed task is to deal with the bureaucracy and figure out what needs to be done to get Jason's pedigree properly established. At the same time, however, Jazmine's first day in court comes. As paranoid as she is, she wants Herc to stay at home with Jason, but he won't have that; he—and Chuck's drift phantom, too—wants to be with her, and he'll absolutely pay for someone who she trusts to watch Jason if that's what it takes. So Jazmine calls Abigail and schedules everything, and Herc has the money to pay the woman in cash when they leave Jason at her home.

" _Very_ reputable, for such a small operation," Jazmine tells Herc in an aside as he surveils the property with suspicion. "When I asked for references she had pages of phone numbers and testimonials. There are cameras in the rooms where the children stay, and no child is ever removed from an assigned room or the property unless it's done by a parent or—God forbid—an ambulance; there are even rules in place for the circumstances in which police may remove a child. I have login information for the camera system and can check in for a live feed at any time, and can request footage I missed when I pick up. Jason's never come home with mysterious injuries or habits. I'm sure we'll have to make adjustments once word gets out, but until then this is fine."

Once word gets out that Jason is Chuck's son, that is.

A woman Jazmine identifies as Abigail comes outside to greet them. Jason is distressed to be abandoned, but Jazmine is entirely unmoved by the big tears on his lashes. "Jason, you know Miss Abigail and the children here. You know you're safe. Mummy will come get you later, like always."

"Don' go!" the toddler squeals in Abigail's arms, and starts to cry outright.

"I'll be back later," is all Jazmine says. She turns and heads toward the truck. She doesn't look back.

Herc makes his own promises and then follows. In the truck, he glances at Jazmine and sees how tight and unhappy she is. He fulfills his manly duty and tells her, "She'll be apples."

Chuck must have voiced the very Australian phrase once or twice, because Jazmine doesn't blink. Instead, she sighs and looks out her window. "Not soon enough."

* * *

It's as they're walking into the courtroom that Herc is glad all over again that he rescued some of Jazmine's clothes from the DHA. Probably unlike most—perhaps even all—of those who came before her, she's able to wear one of her business suits that's slightly modified to give the baby room, present herself with dignity, and show that she's far from the fearmongering image of an illegal that's typically presented by politicians.

Herc's sense of victory, however, is short-lived. The proceedings are slow, and given the temperature in the courtroom the air conditioning has apparently failed. Jazmine's in one of those frequent-nap phases pregnant women endure and despite her best efforts to stay awake is drifting in and out of sleep. She's sweating and uncomfortable on top of the stress of sitting through court. The judge is not impressed, but Herc's—and Chuck's drift phantom's—irritation at the lack of acknowledgment of what is, in fact, an atypical health condition is soothed somewhat by Evelyn Callaghan's constant attentiveness; she's not afraid to ask for recesses, and her expression and tone make it clear that she doesn't give a shit about how annoyed the judge is getting.

It comes to a head near the end of the first day. It's midafternoon, and outside the sun is scorching; inside is stifling. No place is safe. Jazmine is sweating as profusely as everyone else and breathing through her mouth to try to get enough cool air for both herself and the baby. She's in visible distress and clearly needs a glass of cold water and some location with functioning air conditioning to recuperate. Evelyn takes note of all this and requests a break.

"No," the judge responds. "I've had enough of this. She'll deal with it like the rest of us. Besides," he says with a bit of a sneer, "if she plans to stay in Australia she may as well get used to it."

"That's outrageous," Evelyn hisses. "Since when were any of Australia's pregnant women forced to suffer these conditions just because they live here and plan to stay on? What's done to one must be done to all," she snaps, "else the bias is inarguable."

The judge is not moved. "We'll be done in five minutes. She can wait."

Except that five becomes thirty. Jazmine somehow holds on, but there's no doubting how bad things are in the courtroom; even as a local, Herc feels as though he's going to pass out, yet still manages to derive a nasty sort of satisfaction from seeing the judge clearly suffering as well in his robes.

"Cock," he mutters.

Finally, it's over, and everyone is allowed to leave. Jazmine gets to her feet beside Herc, only to collapse. He's barely able to catch her. He sits down again and lifts her into his lap, cradling her as Evelyn and Raleigh lean over him from different directions. Raleigh, who's made another trip from the United States to show support, uses a phone to briefly film his sister's condition before saying to Herc, "It's probably vasodilation caused by the heat. She stood up too fast and all the blood drained out of her head."

Raleigh disappears for a few minutes and then returns with a paper towel that he's soaked in water from a fountain in the hall beyond the courtroom. It's very cold compared to the temperatures of air and skin, and Jazmine flinches and shivers before coming around. Raleigh croons to her in French, which is probably a good idea given the disorientation in her eyes.

After another couple of minutes she declares herself well and gets to her feet again, but slowly. Herc hands her off to her brother with advice to take their time coming out—he needs to get the truck cooled down.

Once in the truck, Jazmine decides to ride in the back with Jason, who—when they pick him up—is not as distressed as he was at the state-run childcare facility, but still distressed. Raleigh sits up front with Herc, working diligently on his phone the whole ride, though he does seem happy to spare a few minutes for Jason.

"It's too bad you came out of Chuck," he sing-songs to the toddler.

He also accepts without protest a swat from his sister, who says, "It's too bad you came out of Richard."

* * *

By the next morning, Herc finds out what Raleigh was doing on his phone. It's all over the news that when the pregnant, allegedly illegal-alien mother of both of Australian hero Chuck Hansen's children went to court about her immigration status, the judge had failed to accommodate her pregnancy.

" _It's just a fact of the condition that a woman's needs increase,"_ a women's rights advocate says in a dual interview with a court representative. _"Pregnancy places additional stress on a woman's body, and to not provide for things like extra restroom breaks and especially climate control endangers the life of the mother and especially the child; a speedy trial is useless if she's in such distress that she can't focus on the proceedings. This video is an embarrassment. It doesn't matter in the slightest whether she's an illegal alien or whether her child is Australian—this is a humanitarian failure on the part of Australia's courts."_

The court rep is falling all over himself trying to explain why Jazmine was treated so poorly, and no one is buying it. _". . . As soon as word got out about this incident, of course the judge was found to be biased and removed immediately from Miss Lapierre's case—"_

" _And the climate control system is being repaired?"_ the advocate demands.

" _Of course it is, but that's not a simple matter of the court snapping its fingers. Miss Lapierre's case has been put on a very brief hold while the repairs are going on, and as soon as they're complete her court dates will be rescheduled appropriately."_

"Ugh," Jazmine mutters as she emerges from the hall that leads to the bedrooms. "Now I have to adjust my work schedule."

"You were being mistreated," Herc tells her.

She goes into the kitchen to start on breakfast. "I've been mistreated all my life. A hot, humid courtroom is just a new twist on an old theme."

* * *

By the afternoon, word has gotten far enough around for every dingbat on the street to have an opinion. In the interest of being unbiased, equal airtime is given to supporters, opponents, and the undecided.

" _Her attorney's right—it's not equal treatment. She shouldn't be treated differently from other women in Australia just because it's presumed—or even if it's true that—she isn't here legally. We're better than that."_

" _I haven't really thought about it, so no comment."_

" _She's an illegal, not a citizen. She doesn't get citizen's rights just because she_ _ **maybe**_ _rooted an Australian citizen and got herself knocked up the duff. As far as I'm concerned, she shouldn't even be getting a trial when it's on the taxpayers' coin."_

"Bloody ignorant bogan," Herc grumbles.

Because it doesn't matter whether she's a citizen or who she might have had sex with. While the Australian Constitution provides only a very brief, rather mediocre list of individual rights compared to America and other countries, what other laws that are in place were written up in a very specific way; they don't differentiate between the rights of people who are legal, illegal, or prisoners, so the simple fact that Jazmine is on Australian soil entitles her to at least humane treatment. And she's been paying taxes on her business for years, so if that's supposed to be some sort of metric of entitlement to fair treatment in court, she's earned at least that.

* * *

By the next morning, it gets _really_ out of hand. Young women from all over the country are beginning to casually point out that they've given birth to Chuck's children too, but they aren't looking for favors. Or, rather, if some illegal woman is getting favors, then they should all be getting favors.

In the interest of _fairness_ , of course.

Herc immediately calls Darryl. "How's the paperwork on Jason's birth certificate?"

Darryl doesn't have to ask why he's suddenly interested. "It's being processed. I'm trying to hurry it along, but some desks are more backed up than others."

* * *

There's also a mess of journalists pretty much camped in front of the duplex. Jazmine more or less doesn't go out at all, spending most of her time inside doing work or out in the back with Jason. Fortunately, the privacy fence around the yard is a little over three meters high, so the added inconvenience of finding a ladder to get pictures and ask questions keeps most of them from harassing her. Those who bother generally find themselves the target of water balloons or paintballs, courtesy of one Raleigh Becket.

It's because of those journalists that Herc doesn't need Darryl to let him know when the paperwork at last gets through two days later. Someone in the New South Wales Department of Human Services has apparently leaked to them both that Jason's birth records have been corrected and that the paternity test submitted to make the correction links him to Herc. Herc knows this because when he goes out to do some grocery shopping the truck is swarmed as it emerges from the garage and questions about whether Herc was aware of Chuck's relationship are shouted into the glass at him.

It's annoying, but Herc is set to ignore them until he spots some intrepid souls taking advantage of the open garage door to invite themselves into his home. _That_ Herc can't abide, so he rolls down his window and leans out to bark at the intruders, "Get the bloody fuck out of my house, you dickheads!"

They aren't terribly impressed by him, but they're much more impressed by Raleigh, who emerges into the garage from the house with something in one hand. He's blocking the short stairs that lead to the door, so there's a standoff of sorts until Raleigh lifts his hands and pulls something from something else that's cylindrical in shape. The garage is dark compared to the outdoors, so Herc can't tell what it is until the younger man says calmly, "Have any of you ever experienced a stun grenade?"

The garage empties out promptly, and Raleigh uses his pin hand to close the garage door.

Herc resolves to say something after the shopping trip, but in the meantime takes advantage of the journalists' alarm. He rolls up his window and gets started on his errand.

* * *

"Are you mad?" Herc asks when he's back in the house. The journalists are still unsettled, so they were wary of bothering him upon his return; he was able to get back into the garage without any trouble.

Raleigh doesn't look up from his phone. "When it comes to my family, sir? One hundred percent."

"Where is that thing?"

"Where Jason can't get his hands on it."

That's acceptable, Herc supposes. He doubts that Jazmine is so ignorant as to not know what a grenade—any grenade—looks like, and doubts even more that she's stupid enough to play with something that she might think looks like one. "Where did you get it from?"

"I borrowed it from the strike teams' supply closet."

"Put it back before you do something to get yourself arrested and make her situation worse."

"Yes sir."

* * *

The air conditioning in the courthouse is fixed and someone calls to tell Jazmine when her next court date is. Additionally, she's promised bottled water and snacks, plus as many recesses as she may need to be comfortable.

"I'm personally seeing to this," the representative promises firmly. "By law, your immigrant status needs to be addressed, but is entirely irrelevant when it comes to how you should be treated. What was done to you is by no measure the way the court treats anyone in Australia, and that judge is being reprimanded."

"I appreciate that," Jazmine answers. She sounds less than convinced of his sincerity, but doesn't cause any trouble. "I'll see you then, I suppose?"

"That's correct. I look forward to it."

* * *

The journalists get their balls back by the following afternoon and ask the burning question about what Herc—who just wants to collect his damned mail—has to say about the many women who claim to also have given birth to Chuck's children. Thanks to Derrek's advice to get the paternity test done on both children, Herc is able to be absolutely honest.

"Jazmine submitted to a paternity test. I personally witnessed the gathering of the DNA evidence from both her and her son, and as you know the tests have come back positive, which means that both of her children belong to my son. And since she's done this, I expect the rest of the women who make the same claims she has to contact my attorney and arrange for a paternity test of their own. Should their tests come back positive too, that's when I'll start paying attention to what they say."

* * *

"You could've said it a bit gentler than that," Darryl tells him later, after the interview is aired.

"No," Herc replies. "Because they're all liars and I know it as well as they do."

Darryl sighs. "Sometimes it's difficult to be your friend, Herc."

"I don't deserve you, love," Herc assures him.

He does, however, do one thing: He gives Chuck's drift phantom a nudge and then studies the women who appear on the television. After all, if Jazmine managed to slip under Herc's radar for so long, other women could have easily done the same.

Chuck's drift phantom concedes that in the time between returning from Kodiak and choosing Jazmine, Chuck did date many of the women making the assertions; however, it avows with absolute certainty that Jazmine was the only one he slept with.

* * *

Sure enough, the court representative is standing out in front of the courthouse to greet Jazmine when Herc drops her and her brother there. "Good morning, Miss Lapierre. One moment, please . . ." He turns and leans into the truck to hand Herc a piece of paper about the size of a business card. "Someone should have informed you last time that Miss Lapierre is entitled to one free space in the court's car park in the back. The guard at the gate may want to see that you have it when you go in so he knows he doesn't have to issue you a different card, but you don't need to turn it over to him until you leave. This way you needn't pay the parking fee."

That certainly would've been useful last time, given the nightmare it had been to find day-long parking on the street. But instead of being scathing, Herc simply accepts the card and thanks him.

When he gets into the courtroom he finds Jazmine looking deeply put upon, but he's not terribly concerned because Evelyn is clearly amused.

"I hate it when they overcompensate for something," Jazmine mutters when he asks if she's all right. "So some dumbass fucked up. So what? It's too late to undo it. Just make sure it doesn't happen again."

* * *

Jazmine's court dates are set relatively close together, and Herc begins to feel the stress of splitting his time so narrowly between work, court, and the idiot journalists who for some reason are still nagging him about the other women who claim that Chuck fathered their children. There's also Jason, but fortunately the toddler is less a burden and more a nice diversion from the strain of everything else.

"You don't have to go to court with me, you know," Jazmine points out over supper one night.

"Yes I do," he replies. "People need to see that you have my full support, and that they'll make an enemy of me right quick if they harass you. It keeps them off your back and keeps the number of simpering, lying cunts off _my_ back. Those other women talk a good game but none of them have been in touch with Darryl, and those he's able to contact promise to call him back with a time and date suitable for their schedules . . . only they never do. Letting myself be seen at your side shows everyone else that I do give a damn that my son had children I didn't know about, so those women who whine about being ignored have that much less of a leg to stand on."

"Herc, you're inconveniencing yourself in a quasi-private setting because of public discourse. Who Jason's father is has no bearing whatsoever on the meat of my case. You'd show plenty of support just dropping me off and picking me up."

Herc gives her a flat look. "I'm going."

She frowns. "It's not safe anymore to leave Jason at Abigail's. Who's going to watch him?"

"Mako will," Raleigh puts in from where he's sitting on the couch. He's watching the news while he eats. "I already asked, and you know that."

" _Raleigh_ ," Jazmine grinds out, irritated.

He rolls his head back and over to look at her. Or at least in the general direction of the table. "You had someone else in mind? Herc and I are going to court with you, and that's the end of that discussion."

Herc cocks his head, puzzled. "Is Mako a problem?"

"Mako has no dog in the fight," Raleigh explains before Jazmine can do more than open her mouth. "She's already expressed to me her willingness to help in whatever way we may need and Jazmine knows that, but Jazmine doesn't want to _inconvenience_ her."

"I'm sensing a pattern," Herc notes dryly.

Jazmine scowls.

"Mako and I are copilots," Raleigh reminds her. "You're her sister too. There's also Tendo, who has a little girl and already told me he can't wait to corrupt a child with so many connections to people he knows. Collectively, the entire PPDC headquarters would protect Jason, and you damn well know it."

Jazmine's scowl deepens. But that, it turns out, really is the end of that discussion.

* * *

The next court date covers Jazmine's murder in defense of herself and her children. Herc wasn't terribly reassured by the positively _devilish_ expression on Tendo's face when they placed Jason in Mako's care, but he can now tell that it's going to be a long day and is glad that his grandson is with people he trusts. He figures that with a bit of effort he can overwrite whatever unpleasant things Tendo manages to teach the toddler.

"This was the cold-blooded murder of an Australian citizen," the DHA prosecutor says for what must be the tenth or twelfth time in three hours.

Evelyn objects and points out that the pictures of the crime scene taken by the police show that the man was not invited into Jazmine's home—he broke in and then attempted to abduct her child.

"That's speculation," is the accusation. "With the other party dead, we have only Miss Lapierre's word on what he was doing there."

"Well it's a bit odd that a man with no bad intentions would trouble himself to break in through the window of a toddler's bedroom and not, say, knock on the front door," Evelyn tells the judge. "We know from the pictures that Jazmine's room is nearer the street, so even if the man were disorientated from a beating or car accident, wouldn't he approach the first window he saw—one of Jazmine's bedroom windows—and break in that way? Why go back along the side of the house to her child's room?"

"The man was an _Australian national_."

"Fuck's sake!" Herc snarls. He's rewarded with a massive dig in his ribs from Darryl's elbow. "I don't care if he was the second coming of Jesus! He _trespassed_ and _forced entry_ into her home!"

"Mister Hansen," the judge says, calm, "you will edit your language and refrain from any further outbursts or you will be held in contempt of court and _barred_ entry here."

Thanks to Chuck's drift phantom giving unnecessary encouragement, Herc almost says, "Whatever." The only thing that stops him is a fear of being separated from Jazmine and Jason. For that reason, he's able to hold his tongue for the rest of the day. But only barely.

The prosecutor finally gets around to his goal and suggests that Jazmine be deported; Jason, the son of an Australian citizen and born on Australian soil, would be taken back into State custody. He points out that he thinks Jason being turned over to Herc was a bad idea, but tries to come across as magnanimous by further suggesting that a formal evaluation would determine whether Herc truly has the ability to raise Jason himself.

Upon hearing that, Jazmine breaks—one-handed—the pen she's twirling in her fingers. She stays silent, but her expression is clear: no one is taking Jason from her.

No one.

* * *

After the court is adjourned for the day, Herc provides his friends with an earful.

"It was _self-_ _defence_!" he snaps.

"It's not that she defended herself," Derrek explains. "It's the _result_ of her defending herself. The question is whether she _really_ had to kill him."

"She's pregnant and was trying to protect a toddler," Herc counters. "She couldn't afford to wait until he'd gotten outside the window to confirm that yes, he was definitely going to take her child from her and probably sell the boy into slavery!"

"But she's illegal, Herc," Darryl tells him patiently. "The immigration policy is strict on this."

"A _kaiju_ made her illegal!" Herc snaps. "It's not as though she bloody _wanted_ to get trapped at the other end of the planet from where she'd been living! How can there not be an exception for something like that?!"

"There just _isn't_ , mate," Darryl replies with a sigh. "The law was written before the kaiju."

And it's highly likely that no one else who might also have been illegal because of a kaiju would have had the ability to get the counsel necessary to change it. It's hard to say if any public defender would care enough—or have the time—to look into the matter instead of just getting such a person a gentle, helpful deportation.

"Besides," Darryl adds, "why didn't she ever ask for help? Why didn't she go to the police? Even if she was afraid of being arrested or the like, why didn't she ask Chip to help her once she trusted him? It looks bad."

Herc can feel his blood pressure rising. "She didn't ask him to help her because by the time she trusted him that much she'd fallen in love with him and didn't want to leave. Since when was that criminal?"

"Come on, mate," Derrek soothes. "I know it's harsh, but it's reality."

"It's bloody fucking stupid, is what it is," Herc snarls. "There are illegals out there who've killed people for the money in their pockets, but they go after her because she had the strength and skill to defend herself and her child. She knew she'd done nothing wrong, so she didn't run. Jesus fucking Christ . . ." He snorts when his friends exchange a look. "You two don't get it. You've never had children. You and everyone else are suggesting that she should have feared getting caught by immigration, stood back, watched a man who'd broken into her house walk into the night with her son, and never reported the incident. And if she'd done that and you'd heard about it, you would've ridiculed her for being a shit mother and not acting in defence of her child. She'd be fucked either way."

Herc shakes his head, angry. "Are you out of your fucking heads? She had faith that the state would look at her entire record and cut her a break; maybe give her a slap on the wrist and require her to get new copies of her identification right away and fill out an appeal to stay here for twenty years so that her child would have stability during one of the most vulnerable phases of his life. At the very _least_ she was sure they'd have the decency to deport her _and_ her child. _Together_. Instead, the state's going to separate and traumatise both. What the fuck for? Aren't there enough kids out there who've lost their parents? Do you dickheads really think the _Commonwealth_ is going to be able to do for Jason what they won't let his mother do?"

" _You'll_ have Jason," Derrek points out. "He'll be with family."

"God forbid!" Herc barks. "I think I did well enough fucking up one kid's existence—no reason I should be given a second crack at it. Which is exactly why that cunt wants a 'formal evaluation,' since you obviously missed that part. He doesn't want me raising Jason—he wants New South Wales to do it."

"Chip turned out _fine_ , Herc," Darryl assures him. "I wish you'd see that . . ."

Herc finally realizes he can't make them understand. They'll never be able to grasp the strength of Chuck's feelings for Jazmine, or how he would have done everything he could—including not helping her get replacements of her identification—to keep her with him in Australia. It wouldn't have been done with a malicious intent, merely with the same mindset of a child who refuses to cooperate to avoid something unpleasant. A passive resistance. But it would have forced her into virtually the same situation she's currently in. The only difference would have been that if Chuck were present he could have spoken for himself, and had it been necessary he likely would have freely left Australia to be with Jazmine and Jason . . . and cheerfully humiliated Australia by letting everyone know why. Chuck's leaving would have upset Herc, but Herc would have quite happily said nothing about his son prioritizing Jason having both parents. Because it's the right thing for both of them to do. The responsible thing.

And when it comes to it, Herc is a big boy and can look after himself just fine. It's even considered a _good_ thing, normally, when a child leaves home to have his own life. The only difference for Herc would have been drift-related urges to stay close, which Chuck would have felt as well and which they could have discussed and reassured each other about. It's also likely that Chuck—if he'd chosen to leave—would have settled in New Zealand, and that would have been tolerable. Hell, Herc might have gone along and just commuted back into Sydney for work, or had the PPDC move to New Zealand. That would have embarrassed the hell out of Australia.

With no desire to further waste his breath, Herc turns away from Derrek and Darryl with a dismissive flap of one hand and looks for Jazmine. She's quietly facing off with two immigration officers. Raleigh is looming over her, coldly staring the men down. As he gets close, Herc can hear the conversation.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Jazmine says. She's extremely calm, but for some reason it sets Herc's defensive alarms off. Whatever in her voice that's changed he can't tell, but he figures out that it's the dangerous calmness Raleigh had warned him about. She's ready to fight, hand to hand, and so is her brother. And if not fight outright, they still won't tolerate hands being laid on them.

"You're an illegal alien," one of the immigration officers tells her. "You're not welcome in Australia."

"I've taken responsibility for her," Herc tells the men as he joins the little group. "She hasn't done a bloody thing wrong since then. You're not entitled to arrest her, or whatever the fuck you think you're going to do. And if you try it, you'll be arresting me first."

The two men look at him, both visibly unimpressed. The officer who'd spoken before says, "You aren't her official sponsor, which means her continuing presence without a monitor is unacceptable. PPDC power and prestige doesn't extend so far as to magically sign paperwork, Mister Hansen—right now, you're just an unrelated citizen."

"The Australia I'm a citizen of," he counters, "would never treat even a violent criminal this way. She has rights, babysitter or no. Now either arrest me first, give me the paperwork no one's bothered to mention before now, or the both of you fuck off."

The men share a glance, but retreat in silence. Raleigh relaxes immediately and reaches out to hug Jazmine, who's still tense and staring after them.

"Easy, Mimi," Raleigh murmurs. "Think of the baby."

After a moment Jazmine deflates, her motions jerky as though she's resisting her own efforts. She lowers her head against his chest and exhales long and slow.

Raleigh rubs her back and focuses on Herc. "She needs to go home—or somewhere quiet and secluded—so she can calm down."

Herc gives him the keys to the truck. "Here. It seems I need to sign papers or something."

He returns to the courtroom and finds Evelyn and Darryl conversing as they gather papers. "Oï, Darro— Sorry," he thinks to offer in an aside to Evelyn, who patiently inclines her head. He turns back to face Darryl, who's paused to look at him. "Jazmine just had some immigration officers after her, apparently because no one's sponsored her as of yet."

Darryl nods. "At this point, the government won't release her on her own recognisance. She needs someone to be her minder. You haven't signed anything?"

"I signed to bail her out of gaol, but that was it."

"Then I'll—" Darryl stops to watch Evelyn set some papers down on the table. ". . . Oh."

She smiles. "Jazmine failed to mention until recently that she's still without a sponsor. I prepared these for you, Mister Hansen, so I'm glad you came back before I had to chase you down."

She shows Herc where he needs to sign, and once that's done Darryl takes the papers for filing. "If you're confronted again in the next few days," he tells Herc, "have them contact me. They may insist on detaining Jazmine until they get confirmation that the papers are being processed. They don't have to do it, but if they decide to then they don't need a legal excuse, so don't get your knickers twisted."

"Could they keep her?"

"In theory, yes, until the paperwork goes through. So you and she should both just shut up and comply, if it comes to it." Darryl looks straight at Herc and says, "She _is_ a criminal, Herc—it's _illegal_ to be in Australia without a valid visa, and hers ran out over a year ago—and the DHA is entitled to treat her like one, at a level appropriate to her crime. The near-abduction, self-defence issue you were foaming about earlier has no bearing on that. They are two separate things."

Herc nods reluctantly and heads out of the courtroom.

* * *

When they get home, Jazmine retreats to what's become the bedroom she shares with Jason. Raleigh goes after her, only to reappear and do some foraging in the kitchen, then disappear again with some food and water. He returns a short time later and says to Herc as he settles on the couch, "I got her to snack on some veggies and she's trying to nap now, so don't get too loud. I think happy noises would be fine," he adds with a nod at Jason, who's reclined in the crook of Herc's arm, "but we don't want to shout or cry or break anything."

"Understood." Herc looks at Jason, who's yawning. "Well, it looks like that won't be an issue for the time being." He checks the weather on his phone and grimaces. "It might be good for all of us to take a nap so we don't have to fiddle with the air conditioning."

"Shouldn't it be cooling down this time of day?"

"Remember you're in Australia, mate," Herc tells him. "Typical summer temperatures in Aus range from 'hot' to 'bloody hot' to 'hell would be an improvement.' The mercury won't drop noticeably until dark."

Raleigh wrinkles his nose, then blinks. "That's right—the seasons are reversed."

Herc adjusts his recliner to its reclined position and makes himself comfortable. Jason waits patiently for him to stop moving, then shifts deeper into Herc's arm and props his head against Herc's chest. Blue eyes close, and after a few minutes the toddler slips into dreams. "The first real winter I ever experienced was in Alaska," Herc says. "Never had a cold Christmas before."

Raleigh grabs the comforter from the back of the couch and gets up briefly to drape it around Jason, though he arranges it in such a way that Herc can claim some if he wants. "You've never been up in the mountains here? Or to New Zealand?"

Herc snorts. "I didn't say that. I'm just not a fan of the cold. Attending Jaeger Academy forced me to deal with it, and I was there when Christmas came round."

"I see." Raleigh takes the knit throw from the back of the couch and drapes it over himself as he stretches out on the piece of furniture. "What'd you think of a white Christmas? Or was there one?"

"It came in at an angle."

Raleigh grins. "Not sideways? A mild winter, then."

"God forbid," Herc says, then admits, "It was novel. First snowball fight of my life."

"There's a tragedy," is the mock-serious response. "It's always been strange to me, how kids grow up never experiencing snowy winters and snowball fights."

The afternoon turns into storytime, with Herc telling his junior tales from his deployments. Raleigh shares some childhood events, providing Herc with a little more insight into Jazmine's character.

"She wanted so badly to be like Yancy, so she'd always push herself to the point of exhaustion. She'd run herself down and get sick. But," Raleigh adds, "that helped make her tougher than most girls. Women," he amends with a nod. "She was sick so often as a child that as a teenager she didn't get sick at all that I remember . . . I imagine that other than regional illnesses, she probably doesn't get sick these days." He nods again, at the sleeping toddler in Herc's arm. "The rugrat's more robust than most two-year-olds I've met, so I'm sure he dined on good breastmilk. Lots of antibodies and such."

Herc has never thought about it, and says as much.

Raleigh chuckles. "I must sound like I'm trying to sell her at auction. But . . ." He frowns. "Because of how we were raised, she was always judged more negatively than Yancy and me. Too aggressive, too boyish . . . But she _is_ a woman, and there are times when she can't help but be one, whether or not she wants to."

Herc thinks of the video of her very feminine snuggle against Chuck—the one that had seemed to surprise Chuck as well.

"I'm not saying I think you've been judging her, sir," Raleigh says, "but she can make even the least biased person give her a side eye. I just want you to know that she's the best mother you could want for your grandchildren, if you'd given it any thought before."

Herc shrugs the shoulder of his unoccupied arm. "Not since Scissure. I preached it often enough that Chuck saw my logic and agreed that it wasn't the time for him to be having kids." He frowns a little and glances down at Jason. ". . . His story I know. But . . ." Herc looks at Raleigh. "I just realised I don't know why Jazmine would have let herself get pregnant a second time, knowing Chuck was leaving. I'd think they'd both be extra careful after Jason came about . . ."

Raleigh sighs. "Hard to say. I can't imagine that Chuck didn't know, though, unless all the condoms were here and she put holes in them."

Herc frowns again. Leaving the condoms in Jazmine's home would've prevented Herc from coming across them while cleaning the house or the like, but if that were the case, it wasn't fair to Chuck. "Would she do that?"

"Dunno. I know she's too practical and realistic to do it, but I also know she's too emotional to not do it."

Chuck obviously wasn't aware of Jazmine's pregnancy, given the drift phantom's lackluster response to the revelation at the time. But the drift phantom indicates he had been aware it was possible she might end up pregnant after his last visit before Hong Kong, and that he had been okay with that because Jazmine—the one who'd be doing all the childcare, whether Chuck was gone for a few months, a few years, or forever—had been okay with that. Herc takes that to mean their final night together was a mutually agreed-upon, contraceptive-free one; no effort was made to either encourage or prevent his granddaughter's conception.

Raleigh doesn't seem to be judging his sister either way, so rather than speak up Herc just moves on. "So she wanted to be like Yancy? Not you?"

Raleigh snorts. "Absolutely not. Jazmine and I have been at war pretty much all our lives. Largely because of me," he concedes. "I've never been a good brother to her, let alone a good _big_ brother. She was bullied as a child, but I was the worst torment in that part of her life. That's one reason why she says such terrible things to me."

"Oh?"

"I've seen your expression," Raleigh explains with a shrug. "I know it bothers you."

Herc's mouth slants. "I don't think I have to tell you what it's like to not have a brother anymore."

"You don't have to tell her, either," Raleigh reminds him. "She lost Yancy too. And then me." He looks at Herc. "I abandoned her, sir. I told you she takes things like that hard. She says what she does to try to protect herself in case I leave again—not to hurt me, but to remind herself that I can't be trusted. But no matter what she says, she isn't going to leave me, and I'm sure as hell not leaving her again."

* * *

 **To Be Continued in . . .** **Chapter 8** **– The World's Worst Proposal**

Four boxes later, Herc's hand closes around another small, velvety box. He pulls it out and finds it's also of the sort used to protect a ring. When he opens it, a thin, folded piece of paper greets him. He removes and glances at it, determining from its fragility and the numbers that are almost bleeding through that it's a receipt. With it out of the way, he finds two notches in the insert. One is empty. The other holds a plain silver band. Herc can't recall off the top of his head what metal Jazmine's engagement ring is made of, plus it's vanishingly rare for a wedding band to _not_ be gold, so despite Chuck's drift phantom's excitement he unfolds the receipt to check. Sure enough, it's a set.

Well, whatever the color, he knows what to do with it.

* * *

 **Answers To Questions You Didn't Even Know You Wanted To Ask:**

" … _I got a meal at Macca's and split it with him. …"_

This should be relatively self-explanatory with the context, but to be clear, "Macca's" is the exclusively Australian nickname for McDonald's. If only in a casual context, Australian English seems to shorten a number of words, and McDonald's is ubiquitous enough that it got the treatment too. Most McDonald's signs in Australia do spell out the entire name; however, in the past some locations have had their signage officially switched to Macca's for a short time, and McDonald's Australia's Twitter handle is "maccas."

Fun fact: Even if you aren't in Australia, if you google "Macca's" the local snack-pack at the top of the search results will give you the geographically nearest McDonald's restaurants.

—

If you find this fic to be somewhat fine, please take the time to drop me a line!

~RN (LS)


	8. The World's Worst Proposal

**Word Count:** 8,963 ( **Total:** 70,721)

 **Rating:** T for language and some light sexual situations (all clothing stays on, but those who are squeamish about age gaps beware)

 **Date Submitted:** 2/23/18

* * *

 **Chapter 8** **– The World's Worst Proposal**

* * *

Jazmine is livid, red-faced with fury, and Herc doesn't blame her in the slightest. He's appalled and equally angry, and he isn't going to bother glancing back to find out what Raleigh's feeling because Chuck's drift phantom is so enraged that Herc doesn't want to give it the encouragement of another young man's aggression.

And it's all because of what the DHA prosecutor said.

" _There's still the matter of her unborn child."_

Jazmine again breaks, one-handed, a court pen. Her mouth is drawn and her eyes are definitely proving the phrase 'if looks could kill.'

"Of course, it's our belief," the official continues, "that siblings should be kept together whenever possible. For that reason, we want to suggest that Miss Lapierre remain in Australia until her second child is born, and then that child will also be taken into the custody of the Commonwealth."

There's a handful of gasps and murmurs from the audience, but nothing of significance. Herc doesn't know exactly how he or Raleigh, let alone Jazmine, can manage to stay silent in the face of so ridiculous a proposal, unless it's just shocked disbelief.

Chuck's drift phantom _wants to suggest_ that Herc kill the son of a bitch standing at the front of the court.

Instead, Herc pokes Darryl, who looks at him and makes an urgent staying gesture with both hands before looking past him at Evelyn.

When the court recesses for lunch, Jazmine points a trembling finger at Raleigh.

"Already texted Tendo," Raleigh answers.

Herc has no idea what they're talking about, but he isn't really concerned by it at the moment. To Darryl and Evelyn, he says, "What the _bloody_ fuck was that about?"

Both frown. Darryl says, "He's trying to set up a plea deal, but it's too outrageous to work."

Evelyn offers more detail. "He wants us to be panicked enough that we're willing to trade the children—accept giving up Jason to keep the baby and eliminate the threat of Jazmine's imprisonment."

"Like fuck," Herc replies.

"I'll kill my children before I'll let someone take them away from me," Jazmine snarls.

"It won't happen," Raleigh tells her. "Try to calm down, Mimi."

"It won't work," Darryl promises. "His proposal requires that Jazmine be held against her will for no good reason and give birth while imprisoned. That's completely inhumane—immigration infringements are by no means the sort of violent crimes that would so much as suggest that as an unfortunate necessity."

The problem is that Herc is to the point where he isn't sure he trusts anyone in power to actually say that, let alone reject the idea.

* * *

It gets no better after they're back in the courtroom. The immigration official attempts to justify what he's said by pointing out that Australia's population has been decimated by the kaiju, so it's necessary to keep Australian children within the borders to preserve the country's heritage.

"They aren't even purebred," Herc mutters. If they were, it would still be a ridiculous and unacceptable proposition, but at least it'd make a little more sense. "And who gives a fuck about heritage?"

Just prior to the kaiju, a fifth of Australia's population was born overseas or had a parent born overseas. It's probably a full quarter now, between the people killed and the people with limited finances who have immigrated to try to get far away from the Breach but still live in a first-world country. So Australian children are in many cases children of the world, which Herc has always believed is a good thing, and Australian-American children are by no means novel creatures. There's no reason for _Australia_ to want or need them.

* * *

Finally— _finally_ —it's Jazmine's turn to get the floor and plead her case, though not right away; once the immigration official is done, the judge adjourns early so that she can finish putting together her defense.

Herc looks at Darryl. "So what happens now?"

"Now Evelyn finishes her work and presents it. I continue to sit on my arse and look professional."

"You aren't doing anything?"

"I'm here because you asked me to be," Darryl replies. "Since Jazmine has Evelyn, who knows her better and therefore is the better choice to defend her, I rather lack purpose other than cleaning up after you if you make some dumbarse comment that would get her in trouble. For that reason I've been charging you only half my usual hourly, so if you want me to do more I'm going to charge you more."

Herc, who apparently missed that part of the conversation at the time, considers dismissing Darryl unless and until Evelyn is struck with the bubonic plague or the like. A few seconds later he changes his mind and decides he does need someone to babysit him, so that Evelyn and Jazmine don't have to. Just in case Chuck's drift phantom thinks it's a great idea to assert itself and make him blurt something that would harm Jazmine's case.

"You shouldn't be spending your money like this," Jazmine says.

"Well thank God it _is_ my money," Herc tells her, "so I don't have to listen to you. And speaking of money, how are _you_ paying for this when your assets are frozen?"

"Evelyn and I have an agreement," is Jazmine's answer.

Herc wants to believe that. Jazmine obviously knows Evelyn Callaghan better than he does, and Chuck's drift phantom doesn't seem to have a problem with her. But this is his family at risk, and Herc doesn't want to leave them in the hands of someone who's strange to _him_.

Jazmine, however, is entirely self-sufficient and wanders out of the courtroom, in discussion with Evelyn. Raleigh follows behind, hands in pockets.

"You look like you're going to vomit," Darryl says.

"Thanks."

"Need a hug? I can call her back."

Herc doesn't need a hug, technically, but Chuck's drift phantom wants to hold her. The strength of the urge is practically overpowering; Herc's saving grace is nothing more grand than a fierce self-control honed by years and years of strict military discipline. "No. Belt up."

"I think you're taking this harder than she is," Darryl notes. "You should get your blood pressure checked. And if you won't hug her then for fuck's sake, hug your grandson."

Hugging Jason is the best idea Herc's heard all day.

* * *

In the end, Herc is willing to give the judge credit for at least _trying_ to remain objective, but the man is still grilling Evelyn and Jazmine much harder than he ever did the prosecutor. Both women are graceful in their every word and have clearly expected to be treated as less desirable entities, because they—especially Evelyn, for whom Herc is developing more respect as each minute passes—seem to be prepared for every curveball.

Herc, however, is only getting angrier and angrier the longer he sits there. Angrier at _everyone_. Days have passed and it's clear that Evelyn and Jazmine's defense is winding down, yet no one has called on _him_ yet. No one appears to give a damn about what _he_ wants. Or, more importantly, what Chuck obviously, _obviously_ wanted.

Finally, the frustration spills over. While Evelyn is speaking, the prosecutor snorts and harrumphs—not so loudly that he can really be called on it, but just loudly enough to be heard by everyone. Evelyn classily ignores him; Jazmine props her chin in one hand and stares him down, blinking with a disturbing lack of frequency. Chuck's drift phantom—and Herc too, really—has had enough of it all, and after one unusually brazen snort from the prosecutor Herc stands up and snarls, "I don't appreciate the way you're treating my _wife_!"

Silence, stunned and disbelieving, falls in the courtroom.

Chuck's drift phantom shrinks back to the far reaches of Herc's awareness, as close to nervous as anything without actual consciousness can be.

A glance over at Evelyn and Jazmine returns entirely placid expressions, which Herc might have called a good thing except that Raleigh leans forward and whispers, "Respectfully, sir, you're fucked."

"Your _wife_ , Mister Hansen?" the judge asks. "We have no record of your marriage to Miss Lapierre."

Herc makes the snap decision to run with it. If he retracts it, he'll have to either come up with a stellar lie—which he isn't sure he can do on the fly—or tell the truth. If he tells the truth, Jason might well never be returned because Herc would be deemed 'unstable.' Never mind that of all the people on the planet, Jason is quite literally the last person Chuck's drift phantom would cause him to harm, accidentally or otherwise; comparatively, even Jazmine isn't safe. "Because there isn't one yet. We aren't married at the moment—I just tend to think of her that way."

"And why would you choose to marry Miss Lapierre?"

The wording of the question gives Chuck's drift phantom a case of the grumbles; he can marry anyone he chooses who's female, according to Australian law, and there's nothing about Jazmine that gives anyone the right to act so dismissive when speaking her name. Herc feels a similar annoyance, but Darryl rises suddenly beside him, startling him into silence.

"Your Honour, I don't believe that's any concern of the court's. To my knowledge, none of the exceptions Australia has in place apply to them."

"Counsel," the judge replies patiently, "part of the court's effort is to determine why the defendant has been here illegally for so long and whether there is a reason to excuse it, and some would say that marrying an Australian citizen in an attempt to evade the law would fall under that category. However, as relationships are not currently the matter being addressed, the court withdraws the question pending further review."

Darryl nods, then turns to Herc and hisses, " _Sit down_ , you numpty, before you ruin everything."

* * *

As soon as they get home, Herc is driven by Chuck's drift phantom straight into the spare bedroom in his unit, where he's storing the many boxes that contain his previous lives. He pulls them down, checks the labels, and sets them aside until he finds the ones with Chuck's name on them. Since he has no idea what he's looking for, he turns over command of his hands and eyes and just waits for the outcome.

Chuck's drift phantom is feverish as Herc looks through every box. It _knows_ that Herc packed everything important because it watched while he did it, so . . .

"Anything I can help with?"

Herc looks to the doorway, from where Raleigh is surveying his mess. "'Fraid not, mate. _I_ don't even know what I'm looking for."

It's a tribute to their joint experience with everything Jaeger that Raleigh doesn't so much as look puzzled. "Okay. Just try to keep it down—it's Jason's naptime."

"Will do."

It's not an idle promise. Chuck's drift phantom does calm a bit and search more quietly, careful to rein in its growing frustration as box after box turns up nothing.

Then Herc's hand closes around something slightly velvety, with harmless rounded angles. There's a burst of excitement from the drift phantom. Herc pulls it out and looks at the black jewelry case. It's small and square, so it's designed for a ring. He cracks it open and takes a look at the contents, only to be simultaneously nostalgic and disappointed by what he finds.

Over a decade ago, his wife gained a bit of extra weight courtesy of their daughter's presence inside her. Since Herc had been a little too accurate in his sizing of her engagement and wedding rings it wasn't long before the bands were too tight, so after playfully asking Herc's permission and promising she wouldn't forget she was married without them to remind her, she removed both and left them at home for safekeeping. Then Scissure came. Although he gave away or donated many of his wife's things afterward, two of the items he kept were those rings.

The wedding band he squirreled away for himself, and it still sleeps in one of the boxes that holds Herc's items that have no place in the new house, in a cheap plastic display case on the same chain as his RAAF dog tags. The engagement ring he gave to Chuck, primarily as a memento but also for Chuck to give to any woman he found worthy; while Herc had always advised strongly against children, he'd been far less adamant about a wife. It seemed that Chuck, however, had chosen to not give it to Jazmine—something that Herc hadn't noticed but isn't entirely surprised to discover, knowing how mercurial his son could be.

Chuck's drift phantom is politely dismissive of the ring. It's a valued and wanted treasure, but not what's being sought at the moment. So Herc takes a final look at it, nurses an aching heart, then closes the tiny box and sets it gently aside before going back into the bigger cardboard one. But what's being sought isn't there.

Four boxes later, Herc's hand closes around another small, velvety box. He pulls it out and finds it's also of the sort used to protect a ring. When he opens it, a thin, folded piece of paper greets him. He removes and glances at it, determining from its fragility and the numbers that are almost bleeding through that it's a receipt. With it out of the way, he finds two notches in the insert. One is empty. The other holds a plain silver band. Herc can't recall off the top of his head what metal Jazmine's engagement ring is made of, plus it's vanishingly rare for a wedding band to _not_ be gold, so despite Chuck's drift phantom's excitement he unfolds the receipt to check. Sure enough, it's a set.

Well, whatever the color, he knows what to do with it.

He sets the ring box aside and repacks the cardboard box it'd come out of. He then puts everything back in the places they'd been upon his entry into the room. With all that done, he grabs the ring box and goes looking for Jazmine, whom he finds at the dining table, snacking on sliced fruit.

"Marry me," Herc blurts as he drops into a chair.

Jazmine looks at him, startled, cheeks puffed slightly with food. She takes a moment to swallow, clears her throat, then says, "Sorry, I think I missed that . . .?"

He knows that she heard him fine, so he sets the little box in front of her and explains, "You were engaged to Chuck. He bought the wedding band at the same time he bought the engagement ring. I found the receipt, so the date shows intent. It won't automatically make you an Australian citizen if we get married, but you'll be able to apply for a partner visa. I think."

Jazmine blinks and stays silent. She's obviously overwhelmed. Finally, she asks, ". . . Can that be done?"

"Why not?"

She shrugs. "I dunno, just . . . Would age be a thing? Would it be a problem that I was engaged to your son but then marry you?"

Herc shakes his head. "There're a few requirements for a valid marriage in Australia, but none apply. Well, maybe the one about being married to someone else," he amends, "but my wife's been gone for over a decade, and if I'd've been allowed to remarry a woman under 'normal' circumstances then I don't see why I wouldn't be allowed to marry you in these circumstances. There may be a few people who'll look sideways at us—it may be considered a social taboo of some sort—but in a legal sense, since my wife and Chuck are both gone, we're both relieved of any obligations that would otherwise come with our connections to them."

"I see." She doesn't seem terribly enthused.

Herc adds quickly, "It's not forever, I promise—it's just so you can stay with Jason until you get things straightened out. Then we can get an annulment or the like."

Jazmine shakes her head. "That's not . . . It doesn't matter. I just . . ." She makes several faces, and he understands why when a tear falls to the tabletop. ". . . It was . . . supposed to be him."

Herc's heart aches. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head again. "When I was four or five years old, I thought I'd fall in love and get married when I was twenty or so. When I was eight, my father withdrew from me; he still hugged and kissed my mother and brothers, but never me. When I was thirteen, I gave up on him and on men in general; he still barely even looked in my direction, and the kids at school had been picking on me for years because at the time I had a French accent. The girls would taunt me a little for lacking their interests and then ignore me, but the boys would corner me and shove me or punch me until I fought back. I could beat the shit out of them, so behind my back I was 'Xena' or 'Warrior Princess' or 'the Amazon.' After my mother's funeral, my father completely abandoned my brothers and me. The three of us joined the Jaeger Program. We all got to the point of being instated as Rangers, but then I was kicked from the program because we were the only ones who could stand being copilots with each other, and my brothers ended up having a stronger drift with each other than what either had with me. So they went off to the Icebox and I was set loose. After Yancy was killed, Raleigh vanished like my father had."

She bites down a little on the tip of her tongue and her nostrils flare briefly. It looks funny, but Herc has no interest in laughing. Jazmine is truly crying now, and just trying to keep herself from sobbing. He waits, and after a minute or so she gets control of herself.

"For the first nineteen years of my life, I had two experiences with males. They were either intimidated by me or they picked on me for not being girly enough. Even my brothers picked on me—they just didn't do it with the cruelty that the other boys did. Their bullying was always infinitely preferable to anyone else's, and Yancy, at least, would help me right away if I needed it.

"I've never really felt like I belonged anywhere," she adds. "It seems as though I've just been living in the homes of people who feel sorry for me, and then something happens to force me away. Thanks to Salamander, that was exactly how I ended up trapped here. And so I lived on the streets and avoided the gangs of men who wanted to keep me as a sex slave or sell me as one. Fucking men. _Again_.

"Then there was Chuck," she says softly, "and he made all of that not matter anymore. I'd given up on ever getting married when I was twelve or thirteen—there was just no indication that any man would see me as more than a child or a conquest, and my experiences every year after that only solidified that belief. No man who wasn't my brothers would ever even care about me, forget love me enough to want to marry me. But Chuck did, and after a while I knew him well enough to know that he meant it—that it wasn't any pity for me or guilt for Jason. For a little while, I let myself believe that everything would finally work out. And then . . . it didn't. Even marriage can't be a normal part of my life."

"Just your first marriage," Herc soothes. "There are plenty of couples who divorce within a year of their marriage—that's what's normal these days."

She sighs. "I don't think I'd marry twice. It's not worth it. I'm . . . tired. Of all of it."

Herc feels a profound empathy and decides to let the matter rest. "I know how that is," he says, and means it. He had loved—still loves—his wife, and all of Chuck's life he'd questioned whether he could ever find another woman with whom he could feel at all the way he'd felt with her; after twenty-two years of casual exploration, he'd given up. Jazmine is younger than he'd been at the time but not _that_ much younger, plus she has two very young children to raise and a lifetime of being put down and trampled on to contend with. Herc can understand that at least for the time being, she doesn't have the heart or energy to try to find someone else. Perhaps in the future things will change for her, but he isn't going to push—it's her life to live.

"We might as well stay married," she observes, "unless it would cause legal complications in the future."

Herc almost does laugh then, at just how ridiculous the situation is. It's surely the world's most unromantic, most depressing marriage proposal. "So you'll marry me, then?"

"Yeah."

He feels a teeny curl of excitement in his gut that isn't his—Chuck's drift phantom is thrilled by the news. Jazmine accepting Herc's proposal means that she cares enough about the children to want to raise them herself, and that she cared enough about Chuck that she wants to stay in Australia to be close to his father.

* * *

"No," Evelyn says.

Herc's heart drops.

Darryl is shaking his head. "I already looked into that ages ago—I figured you might be open to the idea at least for a brief duration. Australia's immigration requirements are very strict. Even if all of this weren't happening and she'd just come from Alaska to stay because of Chip, she'd still have to live here on a _valid_ visa for four years first. Partner visas are the same. Four years."

Herc sighs through his nose, annoyed. He turns to glance at Jazmine and says, "Marry me anyway."

"There are potential benefits, absolutely," Evelyn says. "It's just that a partner visa isn't one of them."

"Well," Herc mutters, "fuck me."

It's nice, at least, that no one who matters—not Raleigh or Mako or Tendo or Derrek or Darryl or Evelyn—seems to think Herc's doing anything strange or abhorrent by marrying his son's fiancée. However they've justified it to themselves—as either a necessity for Jason's sake or by connecting it to Herc's melodramatic, Chuck's-drift-phantom-inspired little self-exile in the PPDC office—they've all apparently accepted it without reservation.

The public, however, is another matter. Exactly who's the victim in this new wrinkle depends entirely on which so-called 'expert' or rights group is being consulted, and armchair judges pass their rulings accordingly.

" _Obviously, she's threatened him. Like all women, she expected a certain sort of life, so she had sex with a famous jaeger pilot to get his money—possibly even specifically chose him because he was likely to be killed and she'd get the money without strings attached. When he died before she'd managed to get what she wanted, it was most convenient to go after his father at least for child support instead of, say, getting a job and being a properly independent woman. This is the true face of feminism."_

" _This is the proof and fault of the patriarchy. It makes society believe that women have to be married, that they aren't able to raise a son alone. Let me be clear that I don't necessarily blame him specifically, just a society that permits and even encourages men_ _ **and**_ _women to think of women as property that has to be owned by a man for one reason or another."_

" _It's just disgusting, it really is. There's near as makes no difference to twenty years between them. He's easily old enough to be her father. And this clearly isn't good for the boy, who simply won't be able to understand why his grandfather is suddenly his stepfather. It's all very poorly thought out and selfish."_

This is one situation where Herc finds the short, simple responses Jazmine chooses to be perfect.

"I don't care what anyone's much-vaunted credentials are," is all she says when confronted by journalists. "You all know nothing about me and you're nothing to me. Your opinion is irrelevant."

And Herc understands, again, why Chuck chose her.

* * *

Since the law requires that a celebrant be notified a minimum of a month in advance, they aren't married on the day, two weeks later, that they're sitting in court and Raleigh reaches over the rail separating the front and rear of the courtroom to poke Herc in the back. Herc turns to look at him, and Raleigh shifts his attention to Herc's left. Herc looks the other way and focuses on Jazmine.

She has her head bowed and her eyes closed. After a moment, her brows draw in and her forehead creases; her jaw tightens and the tendons in her neck stand out. After another moment, everything eases. Herc thinks she's experiencing stomach cramps or something. A few minutes later, she silently repeats the behaviors. It takes Herc—who hadn't been with his wife when she'd gone into labor with Chuck—a while longer to realize what's happening. Once he does, however, alarm sets in the same as it had when he'd been pulled from duty, told that his wife needed him, and sent to the hospital.

"Jazmine?" he murmurs.

"Shut up," she snarls, quiet and calm. Her eyes don't open.

Herc turns to Darryl, who's looking at him, quizzical. "She's in labour."

Darryl, who isn't married and has no children of his own, displays an absolute but silent panic. Still, he's cognizant enough to get to his feet and announce firmly over the prosecutor's statements, "Your Honour, I request an emergency suspension of proceedings."

"No . . ." Jazmine utters. Nearly pleads.

"For what reason?" the judge replies.

"Because my client is poised to give birth on your courtroom floor," is the response Evelyn gives from her seat on Jazmine's other side. Herc hadn't noticed before, but she's holding Jazmine's hand. "Are you interested in witnessing the miracle of life?"

"The invitation is appreciated, Counsel, but I've already had the good fortune of doing so on five previous occasions. Proceedings are hereby suspended with respect to the defendant's medical condition, and will continue at a date and time that will be determined within a fortnight. This court is adjourned."

A great deal of attention centers on Jazmine at that point, and she shrinks some from the scrutiny even as she glares defiantly.

"Come along, love," Evelyn urges as she gets to her feet. She tugs gently at Jazmine's hand and adds, "Off to hospital with you."

Jazmine stands, but shakes her head. "I have to go home."

"Absolutely not."

"I have to go home," Jazmine says again, her voice clear and unwavering.

Her head is down, but Herc can see her giving the audience the side eye. Some have left but many have not, and most of those remaining are watching her; in some there is undisguised irritation and inaudible whispering to neighbors. He positions himself firmly between her and them and openly stares down her silent accusers. Most grow uncomfortable with his attention and move on. Of those who don't, a blatantly predatory gesture Raleigh makes with his head convinces them to move along.

Herc is then able to focus completely on Jazmine. "You need to go to hospital."

" _No_ ," she snaps. "They'll take my baby the way they took my son. I'm going home."

"No one is going to take your baby," Raleigh tells her, his voice loud enough that the heads of those who are still in the courtroom turn. Jazmine looks up at him, and he repeats calmly, "No one."

They have some sort of silent conversation with their gazes. Whatever passes between them, Jazmine at last shows some deference to her elder brother; she averts her gaze first and nods. Raleigh glances over to Herc and nods as well, then precedes them as they leave. His head is high and his shoulders seem to broaden as he gets closer to the people who insist on standing and staring. The gawkers part in silence.

"I'll drive," Raleigh offers as they get outside. "Keys?"

Herc isn't sure which—if either—of them should be driving under the circumstances, but he really can't think at the moment. So he finds his truck keys, unlocks the doors, and places everything in Raleigh's hands. If nothing else, he's sure Raleigh won't do anything to threaten Jazmine's safety. He opens the rear passenger door and lifts Jazmine into the back, then climbs in after her.

"All right?" he asks as he settles.

"Water?"

Herc wants to punch himself for not grabbing the water bottles they'd been provided in the courtroom. The girl's in labor—it should have occurred to him that she'd want at least water.

"I have some," Raleigh says. He pulls a courtroom-provided water from inside his jacket while he's getting the truck started and hands it over his shoulder.

Herc accepts it and finds it almost completely untouched. He twists the cap off and hands it to Jazmine, who takes two big gulps.

"Hey, easy," Raleigh, who's apparently supervising through the rearview mirror, chides.

"I'm starving," she snaps. "I never had breakfast."

"Okay," comes the concession from the front.

"Should we stop for food?" Herc asks.

Jazmine shakes her head. "My digestive system is going to shut down eventually and won't start up again until after all this is over. No point in throwing up what doesn't get ground up in time."

"She might be a little faint later," Raleigh suggests. "Just let the nurses know."

Both Beckets are relatively calm during the trip, treating each other more or less like the quintessential 'old married couple.' Half of their communications are done in silence, with mere glances, and while Herc knows they drifted before, Jazmine had made it clear that they hadn't drifted often enough as to have so open a connection that they shared a ghost-drift. It's strange.

When they get to the hospital, Herc helps Jazmine out of the truck.

"I'd rather have the baby in the truck," she announces.

" _No_ ," Raleigh counters. "Go inside."

"Fuck you, _Becket_ ," she snarls, spitting the surname like an epithet, but obeys.

Raleigh grabs Herc's wrist to hold him back and watches Jazmine step into the main lobby. Once sure she's out of earshot, he says to Herc, "I know Jazmine is normally extremely independent, but this is a different situation. She's going to be really bitchy with you and everyone else, but you can't take it to heart—it's just a cover. She's in pain and she's scared, and she'll never admit it but she wants us to take control of things so she can focus on the baby. She'll let you boss her around as long as you keep the hospital staff away from her."

" _Away_?"

"Animal husbandry was something our father made us learn," is the explanation, "and Jazmine's already had one child. In theory, this time should be much easier for her. I actually wouldn't have even brought her here if I had a better idea of her medical condition. She's the one giving birth, so she's the only one who truly knows what she needs, and unless she hemorrhages she'll be aware enough to let you know if something's wrong. She doesn't need hospital staff hovering and stalling her labor. Keep them away. Out of the room entirely, if you can manage it. Don't let them tell you they _have_ to be there, because they don't. As long as nothing goes wrong, she'll be able to give birth without any help from the staff, and probably with less pain. Just remember that the more aggressive she gets, the more frightened she is."

The lobby doors open and Jazmine steps out. "Hey, assholes!" she shouts from her spot in the doorway. " _What the fuck is taking so long_?"

Raleigh lets Herc go and gets back into the truck. Herc is thus abandoned to a role he definitely isn't ready to take on. His wife's combativeness had not been as strong as Jazmine's, so he isn't sure how much further he can go when it comes to arguing back; he doesn't know how to avoid being another source of stress to her. Still, there's nothing else he can do until Raleigh finds somewhere to park the truck and rejoins them.

It isn't too long before Herc realizes Raleigh's right—Jazmine is very, very scared but trying desperately to hide it. Fortunately, she succeeds in intimidating most of the people they encounter. At the same time, her hand finds Herc's and she clasps it tightly. He lets her, focusing instead on being the good cop to her bad cop, speaking with the hospital staff and getting arranged the things that should have been arranged months ago but hadn't been because of the government's little tantrum. Jazmine stays close to him until they're shown to a room, at which point she finally separates from him and becomes almost bestial in her aggression.

" _Get out_!" she barks at the staff. " _All_ of you!" She storms over to the light switch and turns it off, leaving the room mostly in shadow. When there's no immediate compliance with her command, she goes to the nearest man, grabs him by the scrubs he's wearing, and heaves him through the doorway with a visible lack of effort. Considering how much larger than her he is, the sight is impressive. She then turns on the rest of the staff and advances on each of them until they get alarmed enough to vacate the room on their own.

All except the midwife. "Now now, Miss Lapierre—"

" _OUT_ ," Jazmine snarls, voice low, eyes intense.

The midwife looks like she's going to keep arguing. Herc decides it's a good time to step in, and does so quite literally. "You need to leave," he tells her firmly. He can feel Jazmine's forehead press into his higher thoracic vertebrae, but she doesn't speak or attack.

The midwife isn't terribly impressed by him, either. "Mister Hansen, please step aside. The girl is in labour. I don't expect you to understand why she needs to be examined—"

Jazmine lunges around Herc's right side, startling both him and the midwife, and roars at the other woman in a voice tinged by a French accent, " _Don't you condescend to him, you self-important BITCH_! _GET OUT_!"

Without waiting for another refusal, Jazmine hauls her arms back until her hands are resting even with her shoulders, then slams her palms forward into the midwife's shoulders. The unprepared woman staggers back several steps and might have fallen had the other staff waiting in the doorway not caught her. Jazmine paces that side of the room, never taking her eyes from the hospital staff who are clearly overwhelmed and baffled by her aggression.

Herc's mobile phone vibrates in his pocket. Raleigh has texted him.

 _How is she?_

Herc is happy to fill him in. _Attacking the staff. Wont stand for exam._

After what seems like a small eternity, there's a response. _Needs to hide. Hug._

Herc isn't sure Raleigh really comprehends how violent Jazmine has become, but he honestly has no better idea. Plus, Chuck's drift phantom is giving him an encouraging prod to say _something_ to her. So he tucks the phone away and commands, "Jazmine, come here."

"No."

" _Yes_ ," he insists. And, miracle of miracles, she obeys. Immediately, even. Once she's within arm's reach he extends his arm to pull her against him and hugs her. She resists for a second or two, then leans in and presses her face into his shoulder. "It's going to be all right," he tells her. "I'm staying right here. Let them look."

"No. They'll take my baby."

"Your baby's still inside you. Not much they can do about that."

" _No_."

Herc almost gives her another command, but that's when Raleigh arrives and pushes through the loitering staff with polite requests to be excused his rudeness. They try to stop him, but Jazmine lets out an unintelligible roar.

The hospital staff recoil.

Raleigh is disapproving. "Mimi. Enough."

" _No_!" she snarls. "I don't want to be here! I want—"

"I know what you want," he replies calmly. "You can't have it. Now take off your shirt and straighten up so I can see where the baby is."

Jazmine hisses and growls like an angry cat, but obediently yanks off her shirt. Raleigh directs her to stand beneath one of the ever-glowing emergency lights and begins feeling around her abdomen. He speaks to her in French, voice low and calm and soothing; Herc can't understand most of it, but he does hear Raleigh say something about " _l'enfant_ ," which is so similar to English that it has to be a reference to the baby. In any case, it doesn't take long before Jazmine forces herself to relax and closes her eyes.

After a moment, Raleigh straightens. He reports, "It's turned, so take it easy for a while. Let Herc and me do the fighting."

Jazmine sighs, but her expression has eased and her anger has bled away. She retreats to the back of the room and paces silently.

Raleigh approaches the hospital staff and says, "I appreciate your patience. You're welcome to observe, but until further notice none of you—or anyone she doesn't want here—will be allowed in this room. If you try, I can't promise I can protect you if she gets to you first. It'll be better for her and the baby if you stay out."

They attempt to protest the ruling, and the obstetrician in particular tries to assert some authority and make threats, but Raleigh's only answer is, "Go ahead. It won't do any good. Unless, that is, you're intending to brutalize a woman who's in the process of delivering a child and whose only request is for privacy in which to do so. I'm sure that'll go over wonderfully with whoever's in charge of oversight here." Stonewalled, the frustrated staff retreat into the corridor to mutter at each other.

Raleigh turns to Herc, who's been completely lost and splitting his attention between the Becket siblings. "Give her a wide berth from now on, okay? The longer this goes on the more she'll sort of zone out, and if you get too close she could strike out in self-defense. So stay out of her way. If she wants to be close to you she'll address you directly, or if you want to calm her with physical contact you have to insist that she come to you."

"My wife didn't do this," Herc tells him, almost accusing. "Why the bloody hell am I even here when I've no fucking clue what's going on?"

"I needed you to cover for me for her sake," is the response, "so she'd feel secure while she's in labor. You can leave now if you really want to, but from here on you don't have to do anything else—I'll take care of it. I can safely say, though," Raleigh adds, "that she'd be happy to have you here, even if you just stand in the corner.

"This is your grandchild," he continues. "You couldn't be there when Jason was born, but I know Jazmine would consider you being here now an acceptable alternative since Chuck can't. I won't lie—it'll be trying, so it's up to you whether you can stand to be around her while she's like this."

Herc doesn't know. He's overwhelmed by his own feelings as well as those of Chuck's drift phantom. He wants to be there, but he doesn't know how to deal with an emotional, unpredictable woman who's on a higher alert than ever because she's about to give birth in a country that has already taken one child from her merely because she happens to be in the country illegally.

Chuck's drift phantom quiets from its agitated state. Offers encouragement. All Jazmine needs to know is that someone she trusts is there with her, and she can do the rest herself.

Herc hopes that's true.

* * *

So Herc stays, and he and Raleigh become gatekeepers, settling in chairs positioned so that anyone who might want to enter the room has to pass between them and be challenged. Once the staff in the maternity ward seem to understand that Jazmine isn't to be addressed directly—that any and all questions must be asked of one of the two men guarding her labor—Raleigh moves farther into the room, closer to the unoccupied bed sitting against one wall. He gestures for Herc to join him and Herc, still feeling lost, does so.

"You look out of your depth."

Herc snorts. "Is it that obvious?"

"Incredibly. I guess you've never done any animal husbandry?"

Herc determines that question to be one hundred percent stupid. "I can't imagine why anyone who doesn't live on a livestock farm would need to know it."

"Dad was something of a doomsday prepper," Raleigh explains. "There was a farm just outside Anchorage and he made all of us help out with various animals."

Herc shrugs. It's really none of his business. Whatever doomsday preparation the Becket patriarch had seen fit to bestow upon his three children, the only harm it seems to have done is make the Becket siblings completely weird to the average person.

"As you know, humans are animals as well, so a lot of what applies to them can be applied to us. Labor and delivery is one of those things. It is painful, but it doesn't have to be agony." Raleigh suddenly pauses and looks at Jazmine, who's been standing silently in the near corner for several minutes. "Mimi," he says gently, voice barely raised, "do you think you can sleep?"

She doesn't answer.

Raleigh speaks again, but in French that time. Jazmine twitches, hesitates, then responds in French. After a moment, she crosses the room to the bed, climbs into it, and eases herself down as though lying on a bed of eggs. Her head is the last thing she puts down, and when she does she closes her eyes and sighs loudly. Raleigh slowly runs his fingers through a section of her hair over and over.

"Laboring animals will often go into a sort of trance," Raleigh continues, his voice still low. "They're so focused on the labor and keeping up with the contractions that they become more unresponsive the closer they get to the birth. But for women, there are distractions everywhere—people asking questions, telling them what to do before they even ask for advice, all that stuff. The problem is that humans still haven't learned to balance intelligence with instinct—we assume intelligence will always trump instinct and disregard instinct as some useless, vestigial thing. But instinct saves people from crimes, and it could help with birth if we'd let it.

"That's why you or I have to be in this room with her at all times. Because of everything that's been going on, she doesn't feel safe in Australia, and that's distracting to her. That's why she wants to go home—it's familiar territory, and she feels in control there. The labor would have gone easier. But like I said earlier, I don't know her condition or how her first labor went, so I'm erring on the side of caution now. The thing is, though, if we can't make her feel safe, the labor will stall and she'll experience more pain. If she resists too long, it can hurt the baby. She trusts us to put her before her status as an illegal alien, so we need to keep everyone away."

"What if someone asks a question we can't answer?" Herc counters. "What if she needs help?"

"If her condition deteriorates, her life will matter more than her comfort," Raleigh says. "And while I doubt it, if the baby _is_ taken, we'll worry about that when the time comes. As a citizen and blood relation, you should have some pull as to where the baby goes."

"Didn't do much good with Jason."

"Different dynamic. Jason may be dependent on adults, but he's not specifically dependent on his mother. The baby will be. If maternity groups anywhere in the world find out the Australian government ripped a newborn away from its perfectly capable mother, it won't matter what her immigration status is—there'll be hell to pay.

"As for any questions the hospital staff may want to ask of her, most of them we can answer in her place. She's in labor, so of course she'll want a cool, wet cloth; she'll doubtless want cool water or ice chips, too; she'll probably want an electric fan, even . . . all that stuff. And if it's been a few hours, have them bring a fresh supply of anything perishable even if she hasn't used the last batch."

Herc looks at Jazmine. He doesn't know how it's possible, but she seems to have fallen asleep. Every so often she'll show discomfort in response to a contraction, but she doesn't wake. "And if something happens inside?"

"The examinations they want to give her right now aren't going to find anything that might kill her," is the response. "They'd only check on the baby's position and Jazmine's dilation, and the former is something that I can do while the latter doesn't really matter unless she's trying to bear down."

Raleigh shakes his head. "For the average woman, hospitals are really shitty places to give birth; barring high-risk pregnancies, which understandably require expert supervision, women don't tend to need anyone filching around in their vaginas telling them what they already know. That's why there are birthing centers—because most births don't need the interference of medical personnel. The ultimate fact is that regardless of where we are, Jazmine is the one best suited to determine her actual condition at any given moment. If she thinks something is wrong, she'll tell us, and if she suddenly starts writhing and screaming then it doesn't matter if she says anything—we'll know we need to get the staff in here."

"I thought writhing and screaming is what women normally do."

"That's usually only in a hospital, where they're prevented from doing what instinct tells them to do." Raleigh smiles. "If all goes well, sir, you're going to learn something new."

* * *

Herc hasn't exactly been an attendee of that many births, but Jazmine's labor is night to his wife's day. It's certainly less stressful, he has to admit—Jazmine's failure to show significant pain, and her calm coherence on the occasions her brother addresses her, is a magical salve on his nerves. It's still upsetting to see her wince with some of the contractions, though; it triggers some protective aspect of fatherhood or masculinity that he has to fight down because there's no way to stop what's hurting her. But it doesn't have nearly the strength it did when his wife had been in labor, whether it's because she's not his wife or not his daughter, and that reduced stress makes it more entertaining to hear Raleigh sing lullabies in French to his sister.

That said, her anxiety and restlessness increase as day becomes night. Her attention to the door is invariably hawk-like, and she bristles whenever the hospital staff peek in to check on them or even just walk past the doorway. Raleigh's patience is eternal—he croons and soothes and reminds her that he's there and he'll take the baby and run should anyone suspicious make a move.

"Herc's here, too," Raleigh adds at one point, well into the wee hours of the morning. Until this point he's been careful to not speak for Herc, but now seems to believe it necessary. "I'm sure you already know that even under the worst circumstances, he'd still have strong words for anyone who tried to take either of his grandchildren away from him."

Jazmine looks from her brother to Herc, and he sees in her the same veiled vulnerability Chuck had often shown at the times he'd been the least confident and most mouthy—that expression that said, "Are you buying this? Because I'm sure as hell not."

Given the situation, Herc finds the unvoiced question insulting. At the same time, however, he has to admit that his support since arriving at the hospital has been minimal; Raleigh has been doing literally all of the calming and fetching. So he says, "I've been going to court with you for months. I'm letting you stay in my home rent-free. I voluntarily participated in a paternity test and set myself up to take on the financial burden of children. All to keep you and the carpet-munchers here in Australia. Aren't actions supposed to speak louder than words?"

Jazmine looks slightly abashed at that and relaxes—at least for a little while. On the other side of the bed, Raleigh lifts a hand into Herc's range of view and gives him a thumbs-up.

Jazmine eventually sleeps again, for longer than before even though her contractions are coming stronger and more often. Raleigh occasionally runs his hands over her body in massaging motions that ultimately center on the baby. When Herc asks, he explains that while he's certain the baby has turned, there are methods to manually turn a baby that isn't in the proper position; he doesn't exactly know any of them, but his goal is simply to both keep the baby stimulated and in its current position by mimicking the pressure of contractions as well as to keep Jazmine asleep by letting her know with touch that he's there.

"This isn't something I'd do with non-humans," Raleigh tells him. "They lead simpler lives, and even the social animals like dogs and horses generally prefer to be alone when they give birth; they have to worry about their babies being stolen by other females or harmed by males, so they don't appreciate a human presence either. Well," he adds, "in retrospect I probably wouldn't do this with any female who wasn't my sister or my wife or someone else I knew very well unless she asked me to. Otherwise, my presence would probably just be stressful to her."

"You think my presence isn't stressful to Jazmine? We barely know each other."

"You saw how she treated the hospital staff," Raleigh offers. "Jazmine doesn't discriminate—grandfather or not, she would have chased you out just like she did them if your presence upset her."

And she had, in the end, actually _defended_ his presence, Herc recalls, when she attacked the midwife on his behalf. If it were just a matter of insecurity, she could have sent him out when Raleigh arrived, or had Raleigh send him out for her. But she hadn't, and Raleigh had invited him to stay and she never protested that.

"Your presence isn't stressful to Jazmine," Raleigh concludes. "But if it's stressful to you, you don't have to stay. Staying when you don't want to will make things harder on her."

Chuck's drift phantom looms large and angry in the back of Herc's mind. He's not to leave—he's to suck it up like a man and hide the stress. He did it before when Chuck was too little to understand why the world had turned upside-down, so surely he can do it again for a happier occasion.

Herc waves it away, annoyed, and mutters without thinking, "Not as happy as it could be, though, eh?"

Raleigh, who's focused on massaging Jazmine, glances at him, but only in the way one would do to ensure that he isn't the one being spoken to. When he determines he isn't, his face doesn't change and he says nothing. And Herc's glad for that, really. While Herc's total years of jaeger piloting are double his junior's, Raleigh drifted with his brother longer and more closely than Herc drifted with his own brother, and about as long as Herc drifted with Chuck. It's a subtle relief to be acquainted with someone who knows what it's like to have a drift phantom in your head and isn't going to question your sanity based merely on the fact that you apparently talk to yourself.

"Don't let him guilt you into anything," Raleigh finally says. "You should do what's best for Jazmine. I can tell you that she's comfortable with you being here, but if you let yourself stress out, it'll upset her and make things more difficult for her. On the other hand, if you want to be here and can stand to sit through this without upsetting her, you absolutely should. It's the last chance you'll ever have."

That's painful, but true. Herc yawns and checks his watch. It's practically dawn.

"It's going to be more than twenty-four hours of labor in total," Raleigh speculates. "Her contractions are slowing down a little."

"That's not good," Herc says. In fact, it sounds quite bad. He has no idea if that's normal.

Raleigh shrugs. "She's stressed because we're in a hospital—I'm not surprised it's causing her to delay her labor. I'll let it happen once, but if it happens again I'll ask someone to give her an injection to hurry things along. In the meantime, you should take advantage of this yourself and get some sleep. I'll keep an eye on her."

"I'm not tired," Herc tells him, certain the yawn was just a one-off revealing his boredom. But his eyes do feel a bit dry and gritty, so he folds his arms on the bed and closes his eyes.

* * *

 **To Be Continued in . . .** **Chapter 9** **– The New One**

The woman isn't impressed, which Herc can understand, but makes the mistake of being a little too careless with her following words: "Your son should have chosen a bit more carefully, Mister Hansen."

The insult is fourfold, targeting Jazmine in general, Chuck's ability to make decisions, and Herc and his wife for not being good teachers. And while Herc isn't certain he _was_ a good teacher and Chuck had made _some_ questionable decisions, Herc is still happy to give him full credit for not letting his fame go to his dick. Chuck had dated many women, but those dates had mostly ended up stopping at 'dinner date' because he'd noticed something about each of them that had given him pause; in retrospect, the ones he'd dated for extended periods had been toned-down versions of Jazmine, so he'd known what he wanted for years—even if not consciously—and been careful in his search for her.

That's why Herc looks the woman in the eyes and says, "I'm not sure about that. She seems to have pinned you well enough," before turning to make his exit.

* * *

 **Answers To Questions You Didn't Even Know You Wanted To Ask:**

 _"I appreciate your patience. … It'll be better for her and the baby if you stay out."_

To be clear, parents-to-be who have concerns or are dealing with a high-risk pregnancy are better off going to a hospital and being assisted by an obstetrician. That's simply all there is to it.

However, if a pregnancy is considered low-risk and regular visits to an obstetrician have shown no reason to be concerned, couples usually have the option of choosing to _not_ give birth in a hospital if that's what they'd prefer. They may choose an at-home birth supervised by a qualified midwife, or they may go to a birthing center staffed by midwives. There are also alternative _methods_ for labor and delivery, some of which include paying respect to the typical preferences of laboring animals. Darkening the delivery room, adjusting the climate, and altering other forms of ambience to whatever is comfortable for the laboring mother are intended to ease labor pains and simultaneously speed the labor process.

Proponents of these alternate options often have multiple children born in different locations under different circumstances and either claim to have felt more comfortable and less pressured than in a hospital or were satisfied with the hospital as well as any alternative option chosen for previous or subsequent births. Obviously, this is largely or entirely anecdotal information. Still, it was interesting to read about given that education about these other places and ways to give birth is essentially unheard of (at least in the U.S.).

—

If you find this fic to be somewhat fine, please take the time to drop me a line!

~RN (LS)


	9. The New One

**Word Count:** 9,079 ( **Total:** 79,800)

 **Rating:** T for language and some light sexual situations (all clothing stays on, but those who are squeamish about age gaps beware)

 **Date Submitted:** 3/2/18

* * *

 **Chapter 9** **– The New One**

* * *

Herc awakens late in the morning, mainly because he can't recall whether he's been to a restroom since he arrived at the hospital and his bladder is certainly making its statement on the matter. As he gets to his feet, feeling stiff all over from sleeping in so unnatural a position, Raleigh advises him to take the opportunity to get something to eat when he's done.

"And then I'd appreciate it if you could cover for me for half an hour."

"Sure."

Herc takes a peek at Jazmine. Raleigh has draped a towel over her head and eyes, but she's clearly awake because she's displaying a visible grimace. Her breathing is harder than it was earlier, too. He looks at Raleigh, but says nothing because the younger man has a staying hand raised and is shaking his head a little bit. So Herc holds his tongue and heads out.

* * *

Raleigh is waiting in the doorway when he gets back, speaking softly to a woman who's either a nurse or a midwife. She nods and walks away without noticing Herc, who stops to speak to his junior. Raleigh doesn't try to silence him this time, and is instead the one to start a conversation.

"I'm having the nurse get her some ice chips in a cup and in a bowl and to bring extra hand towels. She's a little nauseated and has retched a few times, but since she hasn't eaten for so long nothing's coming up. If something does, it'll be bile or any water she's consumed. She's going to be more irritable from now on because of that and as she starts to overheat and dehydrate. Whether or not you can convince her to eat the ice, but especially if you can't, dip a towel in the bowl, wring it out, and run it over her face and neck and arms. You don't have to clean her—you're just cooling her skin."

"She's awake then?"

"Yes, but don't worry about talking to her. Just keep her company; let her focus on the labor. If she needs something she'll ask, but if she doesn't and she's restless, go ahead and say something. You may have to say it a few times if she's expecting to hear French. See what she says, and just please be patient if she snaps at you."

Herc sends off the clucky hen that is Raleigh Becket. He may not have attended more than one birth before, but it's not like it's rocket science—he can take his junior's instructions and his own experience and go from there. That said, it's one thing to be around Jazmine while she's in labor; it'll be another if she starts bearing down.

He steps into the darkened room and finds Jazmine lying on the bed, but in an unnecessarily alert position with her head upraised like a startled kangaroo so she can stare. "Lie _down_ , girl," he tells her firmly, and barely refrains from shaking his head at how uptight Americans are. "You're trying to give birth, remember."

Jazmine relaxes, a bit reluctantly but still obediently. She relaxes more as Herc settles into his chair again. He gives her a comforting pat on her folded arm. She closes her eyes.

* * *

When Raleigh returns, he's not happy. He comes in staring at his phone and sits down staring at his phone.

"What?" Jazmine asks.

"The prosecutor," is the response. "Tendo finally got back to me."

Jazmine growls.

Raleigh nods. "Multiple names. And, of course, makeup to hide the tattoos."

Jazmine says a few choice words.

"The prosecutor has multiple names?" Herc asks.

Raleigh nods again, still staring at his phone. "Jazmine and I figured that no one who didn't have an ulterior motive would suggest taking a woman's newborn away from her. Toddler, maybe, but a newborn? And for so lame a reason? He's a cultist."

Herc can't really help the way he bristles with aggression. It's mostly Chuck's drift phantom causing it, but it sets Herc on edge because when Chuck was as quiet about something as the drift phantom is being, it was never a good thing. Chuck was always easy to anger, all his life, but in ninety-eight percent of cases it was blustery anger—loud and scary to blow off steam, but essentially nonphysical other than the occasional shove meant to intimidate. Silence was a telling precursor to the sorts of physical acts that ended in prison, and on one occasion almost ended in a court martial.

So Herc does his best to soothe the drift phantom with promises that he'll stay right by Jazmine's side and only leave when he knows Raleigh isn't going anywhere. The drift phantom doesn't seem to be hugely impressed by the vows, but is tolerant and settles down. For the moment. "He's sending the info to the police, right?"

"No."

"Why?" It takes a second for Herc's brain to catch up with his mouth. "Right. No evidence, no interest."

Raleigh just nods.

Jazmine looks irritated, though she stays still and quiet.

Raleigh doesn't so much as glance at her, but says, "Well, then, give birth."

Jazmine turns her head toward him, then reaches out and slaps the side of _his_ head. Rather hard, too.

Raleigh doesn't look up from his phone as he straightens. "That means nothing whatsoever—my decision to come here would've been the same."

Jazmine huffs and stretches out on the bed. She fidgets a little, clearly trying to find a comfortable position. Raleigh begins to hum lullabies to her again, and she closes her eyes.

* * *

Coincidental or not, Raleigh's suggestion to give birth coincides with the progression of Jazmine's labor. She becomes increasingly uncomfortable and tries out a variety of positions to alleviate whatever discomfort she's experiencing at any given moment. Raleigh continues to hum, apparently unconcerned. Herc wants to say something to her but remembers what his junior said about not bothering her. On top of that, he has to admit that she doesn't seem to be _looking_ for comfort.

In fact, the only times Raleigh appears to pay any actual attention to his sister is when she's settled for more than two minutes. Then he sets his phone aside, reaches into the bowl of melting ice for the hand towel that's soaking, wrings it out, and runs it over Jazmine's exposed skin. Every time, she cringes a bit at the temperature, but it's a small thing that goes away quickly enough, and after that she appears to appreciate it. She pushes away any cups of water offered, however, which seems to upset Raleigh even though he doesn't argue.

* * *

Supper rolls around a little sooner than Herc expected, since he knocked his schedule off by sleeping until lunch, but he's not terribly hungry when it arrives. He declines Raleigh's offer to get something to eat, though he does take the opportunity to use the restroom. When he steps out, Raleigh waves goodbye and heads for the door with a promise to be back in about half an hour.

Herc chases after him, alarmed. "Just a second, mate!" he hisses. When Raleigh stops in the corridor, Herc says, "What if she has the baby while you're gone? What am I supposed to do, call the midwife?"

"That's not likely if her water doesn't hurry up and break. Like, right this second," is the calm response as Raleigh glances at his watch. "But if it does, your job is to do one of two things: either stand there and shut up and let her tell you whether to help or get help, or sound the alarm if she passes out or seems to be bleeding a lot. A little blood is normal, but if it's a huge blotch that's not okay."

Herc isn't reassured—nor is Chuck's drift phantom—but he lets the younger man go and goes back into the room. Like before, Jazmine is alert, head up. "I'm staying, don't worry," he tells her, and she returns to fidgeting.

Jazmine's breathing is definitely more labored than it was at lunch. Herc wrings out the hand towel, runs it gently over her face and arms, and fights the urge to vomit platitudes. Because for all her discomfort, she isn't really in any kind of emotional distress that would call for reassurance—she's just physically uncomfortable because she's essentially trying to force a prize watermelon through a passageway and its accompanying opening that rather lack adequate dimensions for the job. Besides, seeing as she's already given birth once, it's not as though she has no idea what she's gotten herself into.

Abruptly, Jazmine goes still.

"All right?" Herc asks, already on edge.

She looks at him, then down toward the foot of the bed. "My water broke."

Herc is completely panicked, though he pats himself on the back for not showing it. "If you need me to do something to help, say so."

She focuses on him again, then turns her attention to stretching out more on her side. "Not right now."

Given the way she behaves from that point—still repositioning, but with far more urgency—Herc decides she's definitely in full-blown, imminent-birth labor. He'd hold her hand, but she's moving too much and is often on all fours in her search for a comfortable position. Not that his intentions really matter anymore, because she seems to have largely forgotten about him, and does appear to be in a sort-of trance such as what Raleigh mentioned twenty-four hours ago. She frets almost silently, the sound coming through more from her breathing than her throat.

Herc is immensely relieved when Raleigh returns. Raleigh stops and studies his sister, clearly noticing how her behavior has changed. He then looks at Herc, who says, "She says her waters broke."

Raleigh nods calmly and settles in his chair. And that's it.

"Are we not calling the obstetrician?" Herc asks. "A midwife?"

Raleigh wrinkles his nose. "That wasn't the plan, no. Not unless there's a catastrophe."

"What if the baby comes?"

"I'm sure she can handle it."

Herc desperately wants to slap them both for not taking this seriously enough and potentially endangering his granddaughter. He doesn't in part because Chuck's drift phantom is oddly quiet in his head after all the fussing earlier. He can't tell if it's the drift phantom who's exhausted, himself, or both of them.

"Sir," Raleigh soothes, "keep in mind that the population of the human race has boomed for hundreds of thousands of years because women were able to successfully give birth—on multiple occasions, even—in unsanitary conditions and in a lot of cases without midwives or doctors to help. At best, modern medical advances reduce associated mortality rates and help with pain management. Beyond that, they don't making the process of giving birth any easier or faster. It all comes down to the individual women. Hospitals try to treat women like machines that can be held to a timetable and now everyone acts like labor and delivery are something that need expert supervision, but that couldn't be further from the truth."

Herc realizes that Chuck's drift phantom is so 'quiet' because he and it are perfectly synchronized in their alarm—it's been allowed too much influence. He deliberately pulls away from it and takes a moment to breathe and study Jazmine, whose discomfort is clear but nowhere near agony. She isn't dead or dying. Everything is fine. He needs to rein in his impatience and fear and just _wait_.

* * *

Herc really feels completely superfluous, and Chuck's drift phantom isn't offering any alternatives. On the other side of the bed, Raleigh is looking down at the mattress and fiddling absently with the edge of the thin hospital blanket, humming a song Herc doesn't know, content to wait.

The obstetrician and two midwives keep peeking in. Though Raleigh did inform them that Jazmine was in active labor, he didn't let them into the room to examine her. Herc isn't terribly comfortable with that, but there's no denying that the mere presences of visitors—any visitors, including normal people looking for some other woman who enter the room by mistake—causes Jazmine to stiffen in distress and increases the strength of her labor pains. It's better that it's just him and Raleigh.

* * *

Herc blinks, at something of a loss as to how everything worked out. It was all so sudden that the phrase "boom, baby" now has a new meaning in his personal vocabulary.

There's a moment of stillness as all three of them stare at the messy newborn in Jazmine's hands, then the baby whimpers and lets out a squall. Jazmine chokes on a relieved laugh, settles back on her heels, and lifts the baby to her chest. Raleigh grabs one of the special ultra-soft, hospital-issue baby blankets, and in no time at all the two of them get the baby half swaddled, both careful to not yank on the umbilical cord. Raleigh turns away to do other things with the baby supplies—and shoots an apparently warning look at the hospital staff trying to edge into the room, considering how they slink right back out—while Jazmine cleans the baby's face with a corner of the blanket and smiles a wonderful smile at her.

" _Bienvenue, ma petite_ ," she purrs at the infant.

She then turns that smile toward Herc and bends down a little so he can get a better look at his grandchild. "Thanks for staying. I know it was boring."

"Not boring," he assures her, leaning back as Raleigh deftly suctions the baby's nose and does other things normally done by nurses. The whole experience had been scary, exhilarating . . . _anything_ but boring.

"I'm glad you were here," she says. "It means a lot."

"You say that as though I was doing it for your sake."

" _Lolo_ ," Raleigh interjects loudly.

Jazmine glares.

Raleigh isn't exactly impressed. "Do you want to keep it, then? I think it's going to come out anyway, but if it doesn't it'll cause an infection and you'll have to stay here longer."

She rolls her eyes and frees one hand to fiddle with her bra. It's a little hard for her to work because her other hand is holding the baby, who's nuzzling the bare skin of her chest that can be found, but finally she's able to bare one breast. Between the two of them, it isn't long before the baby's suckling contentedly.

After a minute or so, Herc notices the way Jazmine's head is drooping. Her eyes close. He wonders if he should say something, but after everything, he feels she's earned her rest.

Raleigh, however, seems to have a different perspective. "Mimi," he calls gently, drawing out the vowels. "Stay awake."

Jazmine comes back around. She takes a deep breath, yawns, looks at the room, then down at the baby. She smiles again. The two gaze at each other. Jazmine seems unable to stop smiling.

The baby doesn't nurse for very long, and once she's done Raleigh asks for her so that she can be properly cleaned up. Jazmine is a little reluctant but not terribly so, though she does watch what her brother is doing as he cuts the umbilical cord and takes the baby to a nearby table. Raleigh does nothing more than he said he would, however, and soon comes back with the baby.

"You should both get some sleep," Raleigh says. Jazmine nods and reaches out. Raleigh takes a step back. "No, the other bed. That one needs to be cleaned."

Jazmine makes a face, but slides to the floor. Once upright, she pauses, then makes for the restroom.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Raleigh says, smug. He grins when she responds with an upraised finger that's visible over her shoulder. When the door is closed, he turns to Herc. "Want?"

Herc feels anew the twenty-some-year-old fear that he might drop a baby, but tempers it with the reminder that he only dropped Chuck once—not very far into a bed—and never when Chuck had been a newborn. Chuck's drift phantom shares that for all his fear of it, Chuck had never come close to dropping Jason. So between the two of them, everything should be fine. Enthusiasm begins to peek through. "Yeah, mate, hand the ankle-biter this way." It's not for Herc's sake, though—it's for Chuck's.

The drift phantom is grabby-handed, so Herc turns over control. Chuck's parenting instincts shine through, proving that despite his aggression with peers and adults, he was very soft and squishy around at least his own children. The baby is calm and quiet, though she still squints in the emergency lighting; Herc can imagine how bright even a darkened room would seem when the mother's body blocks so much light during pregnancy.

Though he was giving them warning looks earlier, Raleigh seems willing to let the maternity staff into the room now to clean up. The obstetrician on duty slips in and makes a beeline for Herc. Herc doesn't miss the frown Raleigh throws at her back—she hadn't been invited, just the nurses—but no further protest is made. Herc gets that he's being allowed control of who sees the baby, and with the knowledge of the prosecutor being a cultist suddenly everyone else seems like a threat as well, to both Herc and Chuck's drift phantom. So Herc isn't terribly excited by the approach of the obstetrician, and her bedside manner does nothing to help.

"Give me the baby."

Herc bristles and glares. "Go fuck yourself."

The obstetrician is clearly done being patient. "You natural birth people . . ." She reaches for the baby.

Herc successfully fights the urge to strike her in the solar plexus to make her back up, though he wonders if it wouldn't have been considered self-defense, given that she has no permission to do what she's trying to do.

Jazmine appears, wet-haired from a shower, her face twisted with fury, and grabs the woman's wrist. "Get away from them."

The obstetrician stares her down. "Let go before I have you charged with battery."

Jazmine stares right back. "You're damned lucky that battery is all it is, woman. If you come back into this room or otherwise lay one finger on my baby, I will break each joint of each finger of each of your hands, and I will do it in such a way that you will never be able to so much as wipe your own ass again, let alone practice medicine. Do you understand?"

" _Let go_."

Jazmine twists her arm inward to a more normal position, which simultaneously twists the obstetrician's almost upside-down, then advances on the woman, forcing her to back up in turn. "Get out of my room, cunt. Get out and stay out, because if you come back in it will be the last thing you ever do alive." Jazmine shoves her out into the hall, hard enough that the obstetrician lets out a small cry of pain and grabs at her elbow.

Raleigh sidles past Jazmine as she reenters the room. She looks at the wary nurses who are still cleaning. "Finish and get out."

Herc watches the obstetrician argue with Raleigh, who's having none of it. She finally storms out of sight, frustrated. Raleigh comes back into the room, mild-faced, and yawns as though nothing's happened.

Jazmine returns to Herc to check on the baby's condition, then climbs into the clean bed and settles down to nap. Raleigh shows up then, with a sigh and towel in hand, and proceeds to wrap his sister's hair in the towel and squeeze the excess water from it. Jazmine must feel it, given the way her head rocks as her hair is tugged, but she pays it no mind.

When he's done, Raleigh hands the towel to a nurse who's leaving with other towels. He waits until all the nurses are done and gone, then closes the door and goes back to the bed. To Herc, he says, "Now it's time to grab a nap before we get kicked out or worse. The chair over there reclines if you feel like getting some sleep. You can put the baby on the bed with Jazmine at any time—she won't roll onto her." With that, he pushes his sister a little more toward the edge of the bed and then climbs up with her. "I'd offer to let you sleep on the bed with her, but I figure you aren't as used to it as I am."

Herc isn't used to it at all, actually, even given the memories acquired through the drift; that's how little time Chuck had spent with Jazmine. He admires the baby for a few more minutes, but she's too tired to be much of a companion, so he tucks her against Jazmine and goes to the chair in the corner. As he settles, he watches Jazmine give the baby a quick visual examination and then curl her arm around the infant to hold her close and keep her safe. The sight pleases Chuck's drift phantom, and seeing Jazmine lying back-to-back with her brother is a reassurance that she and the baby will both be well protected while Herc sleeps.

* * *

The maternity staff may have returned over the following ten hours, but Herc doesn't remember it; he gets a great, unbroken sleep even though the comfort of the chair leaves something to be desired. When he surveys the room, he finds that Jazmine has rolled so that her back is to the outside and she's sort-of spooning with Raleigh—who doesn't appear to have moved much in that time—but with enough space between her front and his back that the baby must be there for safety. So someone or something must have spooked her at some point. Herc plays with his phone, occasionally stretching out kinks in his arms and legs as he waits for his juniors to wake up. It's day out, so there's really no reason to sleep again until they get home.

* * *

It takes Raleigh another two hours to come around. He's groggy and exhausted still, and it's no real wonder given how he so patiently doted on and put up with his sister while she was in a less than accommodating mood. He slides slowly out of bed and stumbles into the restroom, where he stays for about ten minutes. When he comes back out he takes a moment to peek at the baby and confirm that she's not in distress, then moves a chair closer to Herc and slumps into it.

"Morning, sir."

"Morning," Herc answers. "Sleep well?"

"Well, yes. Long enough, no." He yawns.

"We'll get home and go back to bed."

"That sounds like a great idea."

Herc gets to his feet. "Well, I better go find out how the cost of this is going to be handled—I doubt she has a Medicare card."

Something that sounds much like, "Achoo," comes from the bed. Jazmine's arm flops in the direction of her clothes, which are folded on a shelf.

"What?"

"She says she does," Raleigh translates. He gets up and goes to Jazmine's clothes. After fishing around for a minute, he comes up with a wallet. He gives it to Herc. "You know what to look for."

Herc isn't exactly comfortable picking through someone else's wallet—except his brother's and Chuck's—but he goes through it anyway and, sure enough, finds a Medicare card. He takes it to one of the emergency lights and examines it. It looks legitimate. He turns toward the bed. "Where did you get this?"

Jazmine mumbles. It doesn't sound like English. Fortunately, it doesn't have to be. Raleigh says, "She says Chuck gave it to her. All he ever told her was that it was real and no one would ever question it; he had her use it once to prove it, and after that she didn't ask questions about it."

Herc looks again at the card. Then he realizes he recognizes the number—it's the same number on his card, and Chuck's. Him and Chuck having the same number is one thing, because they were family and as a courtesy the Australian government had waived any requirements for Chuck to "leave" that family once he reached majority just so it was one less thing he had to worry about. But to get Jazmine _into_ the family . . .

Herc is flummoxed. "How the bloody hell . . .?"

Chuck's drift phantom explains with ease that winks, smiles, pictures, autographs, and a white lie had gone a long way toward getting the card once he found out that Jazmine was pregnant. And since it's a real card obtained through unofficial and essentially fraudulent means, to date it's been in the best interests of all participating parties to keep the exchange quiet.

Well, given the circumstances Herc isn't going to argue about it. He returns the wallet to Raleigh and heads for the door, the Medicare card in hand. The Medicare people he speaks to on the next floor are pleased to help him; they run the card and even though at least one of them must be aware of Jazmine being an illegal alien, they seem satisfied that the card is legitimate. He's not sure he should say anything, but in the end curiosity wins out.

"We do have to report it," he's told, "and we'll be confiscating it now, but the fact is that we can confirm that Miss Lapierre has paid some taxes and by that measure is entitled to care, so we'll honour it for this occasion." The man then adds, "I doubt it'll do any harm to tell you that the card is one that was reissued to your son—our records indicate that a few years ago he claimed he lost his."

So Chuck gave Jazmine his new card to ensure that she'd be taken care of, and kept the old one for himself in case it was ever deactivated or something—it'd mean proving his identity, but he'd still be able to get treated.

Herc thanks everyone and returns to Jazmine's room, where Raleigh has managed to nudge his sister out of bed and get her at least half dressed. After pulling her skirt on, however, she apparently gave up and crawled back into bed with the baby. Raleigh is patiently, gently routing her from bed again.

"If you don't get up and get dressed," he warns her, "they'll increase the pressure about checking the baby. It'll sour your milk."

Jazmine is finally convinced to get up. She finishes getting dressed and collects the baby, and at last they're on their way, with Raleigh picking out a few hospital staff to thank or apologize to. Everyone seems as irritated to see Jazmine go as to deal with her in the building, and the obstetrician is particularly bold; she scolds Jazmine about pretty much everything, from not allowing herself to be examined during her labor to leaving the hospital without allowing herself to be examined.

Jazmine isn't having it. She stops to confront the woman directly, annoyed. "Examinations. Examinations before, examinations during, examinations after. Why? What the fuck do you think you're supposed to be looking for? Why the hell should I want or need you digging around in my vagina while I'm already in pain? You think far too highly of yourself and your damned college degree, you self-righteous bitch. The only reason I even came to this concentrated source of diseases is because my brother insisted. I've already had one child—I was relatively certain I didn't need your magic hands, or whatever you think is so special about you. And if I _had_ needed you, I would've damn well _asked_ for you. There is no implicit giving up of my individual right to privacy just because I set foot into this building."

"The _baby_ —"

"—would have been under immense stress because _I_ would have been under immense stress first," Jazmine snaps. "Everything would have been infinitely worse simply because _I don't like you_. I don't like you, I don't like your nurses, I don't like your midwives. I am a stubborn, jittery cunt who's already had my son ripped away from me by government toadies, and you think I should trust _YOU_? Sodomize yourself."

With that, Jazmine sets off again. Raleigh meanders after her, mild-faced. Herc watches them go for a bit, then apologizes to the obstetrician even though Chuck's drift phantom is grinning like a Cheshire cat.

The woman isn't impressed, which Herc can understand, but makes the mistake of being a little too careless with her following words: "Your son should have chosen a bit more carefully, Mister Hansen."

The insult is fourfold, targeting Jazmine in general, Chuck's ability to make decisions, and Herc and his wife for not being good teachers. And while Herc isn't certain he _was_ a good teacher and Chuck had made _some_ questionable decisions, Herc is still happy to give him full credit for not letting his fame go to his dick. Chuck had dated many women, but those dates had mostly ended up stopping at 'dinner date' because he'd noticed something about each of them that had given him pause; in retrospect, the ones he'd dated for extended periods had been toned-down versions of Jazmine, so he'd known what he wanted for years—even if not consciously—and been careful in his search for her.

That's why Herc looks the woman in the eyes and says, "I'm not sure about that. She seems to have pinned you well enough," before turning to make his exit.

* * *

They detour on their way home to pick up Jason, who's upset about having been left "alone" for so long. Tendo is happy to list all of the terrible things he's tried to teach the toddler. Jazmine's appreciation for his effort is suitably sarcastic, and she makes a point of letting Mako hold the baby first.

Unrepentant, Tendo tells Herc, "You look like you've been run over by a dump truck, Marshal."

"Like usual, then," is Herc's response. Being knocked completely off his usual schedule by the arrival of his granddaughter is only a piece of the puzzle; the same Hansen ruggedness that had made many women admire him in his youth—and gotten him plenty of beer while still underage, when he tried to get it—is now beginning to make him look older than he really is. And true as it might be that Jazmine had admitted that she found him sexually attractive, there's every possibility that she subconsciously recognized bits of Chuck in him. So it's not necessarily that _he's_ still a hot commodity, and he's realistic about that. It doesn't impede his ability to function.

When Tendo gets his hands on the baby, he cradles her gently and tells her about all the horrible things he's going to teach her to use against her mother, uncle, and grandfather.

"Interesting that you're not afraid to die," Jazmine notes. "That will make it easier for you once I've done to you what you deserve."

* * *

Jazmine spends much of the remainder of the trip home focused entirely on Jason. It's clear why when they get home; she grabs the baby and vanishes into the house, leaving Jason to Raleigh and Herc. Inside the house, Herc finds her already passed out on the bed in her borrowed room, the baby tucked close for incubation.

"We should all take a nap while we can," Raleigh murmurs as he appears at the far end of the hall, Jason draped limply over his shoulder. The toddler is yawning.

"Sounds good," Herc says. "You want my bed? You were up longer than I was."

"Thanks, but I'll stay out here with Jason. I think we'll be farther from the baby that way, so there won't be as much sleep interruption. I'll make supper later."

Not if Herc gets there first. Jazmine and Raleigh have both done a hell of a lot more than he has, so he has every intention of at least doing some of the cooking.

* * *

Herc gets to the kitchen before Raleigh, all right, but not before Jazmine. She feeds herself snacks of fresh fruits and vegetables while she cooks, and the plates she puts out are only for Herc, Raleigh, and Jason.

"You should've let me do it," Herc scolds.

"Don't you worry," she tells him, "you'll have plenty of opportunities to cook as I fall apart in the coming weeks. Relish this while you can."

Jazmine leaves them to eat and retreats back to her bedroom.

* * *

The court grants four weeks of "parental leave" for Jazmine and Herc. A court spokesperson _assures_ Herc that the four weeks isn't a mandate; that is, that Jazmine isn't required to return to court after the four weeks are up.

"Actually," he adds, "neither you nor Miss Lapierre are required to be in attendance at this point—it's just a right you're granted. If you feel comfortable allowing your counsel to speak for you, you're both encouraged to stay at home with the baby for as long as you might like—neither of you will be held in contempt or anything of that nature when your case next comes up for address."

Herc trusts the man's good intentions, but wonders if his 'facts' are an inaccurate interpretation. "Can I get that in writing?"

"I'm sure that won't be a problem. I'll get started on that right away and have it passed to your counsel."

"Appreciated." Herc doesn't know how comfortable Jazmine is leaving everything to Evelyn, but if nothing else Herc isn't comfortable not hearing with his own ears what's being said to whom. Once the four weeks are over, he's going back to court. Raleigh or Mako will surely be willing to help Jazmine for a few hours those days.

* * *

As the weeks pass, the only person Jazmine bothers to pay attention to is Jason; she largely ignores Raleigh and Herc, which makes sense given that they're both adults and can tell just by looking at her that she's becoming increasingly exhausted and isn't ignoring them because she hates them, though her ever-shortening temper might have implied as much to a more sensitive soul.

"Where is your breast pump?" Raleigh finally asks.

"My what?" Jazmine replies sleepily.

"Your breast pump. Herc and I could help with feeding if you'd do that."

Jazmine makes a face as she thinks. Finally, she says, "Don't have one."

"Did you rent it?"

"Never bothered."

Raleigh cocks his head. "Chuck didn't help?"

Jazmine's face twists with annoyance. "He was barely around, fuckface. And when he _was_ around he was so tired it didn't even occur to him to ask to feed Jason until well after he'd been weaned to a bottle. Of formula."

"I see. I'll get you a pump, then."

Jazmine answers with an upraised middle finger.

* * *

Renting equipment, though, requires paperwork, and it's after hours on a Friday. No one will be back to process until Monday, so going in any sooner would be an essentially wasted trip unless other errands were run. For the first time, Raleigh seems a little distressed.

"Well," he explains when Herc asks, "I know Jason turned out fine, but I don't know how she handled him on her own. I'd feel better if I had that to work with. Our presences change things, too, and contaminate the situation in a few ways. I just don't want her to run herself down and get sick with something we bring home when in the past she had the benefit of isolation from the public—she'd pass it to the baby and it'd be a nightmare then. If we could just feed the baby so she could get some unbroken sleep, that'd help a lot."

Finally, Herc has one up on his junior's unusual education. "In that case, mate, I got this."

* * *

Anymore, Jazmine doesn't instantly wake up when the baby begins to cry.

"That's actually a good thing," Herc explains to Raleigh, who's very attentive. He's already put one half of Jason's baby monitor in Jazmine's bedroom and is now setting the other half on the coffee table. "It means she's not likely to wake up and have a go at us."

A few hours later, the baby begins to fuss. Herc gets to his feet, and without being prompted Raleigh does the same, with a quick promise to Jason that he'll be right back. The two men go to Jazmine's bedroom and distract the baby with tickles to keep her quiet.

"I did this with my wife," Herc explains quietly as he places his hand on Jazmine's arm. He doesn't know why he did it until nothing happens and Chuck's drift phantom gives him the go-ahead to continue. Satisfied that she won't attack—or something else unpleasant that only Chuck's drift phantom is aware might occur—he gently peels the bedcovers back. They discover she's sleeping topless, about which Herc says, "That helps."

It's not difficult to demonstrate how to roll her onto her side and keep her there while the baby is positioned to feed. Raleigh understands immediately. "This is essentially how it's done when she's awake."

"Exactly," Herc says. "Of course, the baby will take care of herself once you get them hooked together. And when she needs more, you separate them and roll Jazmine to her other side and do it all again. My wife woke up the first few times I did this, though she was groggy as hell and didn't remember it later, but eventually she slept right through it." He shrugs. "It's probably not taking advantage of bonding opportunity the way it could, but it'll keep the baby's stomach full and give Jazmine time to sleep."

Raleigh is completely on board. "We probably won't need that pump, if this keeps working."

* * *

"So what's her name, anyway?" Raleigh asks when Jazmine staggers out to supper one evening, the baby in her arms as though she's planning to stay out of the bedroom. Which Herc knows—and Raleigh can probably guess by looking—is a lie. She's been caught exercising in her room, but she rarely comes out except to use the toilet.

Jazmine pours herself a glass of milk and sips at it. "Charlotte."

Raleigh cocks his head and frowns slightly, then rolls his eyes. "Oh. God."

"What's wrong with it?" Herc wonders. It might be an 'old' and certainly an uncommon name anymore, but it's still classy.

Jazmine is having none of her brother's criticism. She glares violently. "If you don't like it, asshole, then go have your own fucking brats and name them whatever pleases you." She chugs the milk and sets the empty glass in the sink. With a punctuating snort of, "Dick," she storms out of the kitchen and turns as though she's going back to her room.

Once Jazmine's gone, Herc asks Raleigh again, "What's wrong with Charlotte?"

He shrugs. "Nothing. I was just teasing her." He adds, "At first I thought it had to do with our uncle, but she hates him. 'Charlotte' is the feminine French diminutive of Charles."

Herc tilts his head. "Wh— Oh."

Yeah. Because even before his son was born Herc and his wife hadn't called the kid 'Charles.' Ever. Not even as a whipping name. It's on his birth and death certificates and various other official documents, but those are the only places it's used. As for their son as a person, he was 'Charlie' for a while, until Charlie decided on the dawn of his sixth birthday that he wanted to be called 'Chip,' apparently as a memorial to Herc's then-recently-deceased father, whom he had idolized and who had called him that. After Scissure, 'Chip' was deemed a forbidden nickname for some reason and 'Chuck' was born. That's it. 'Charles' always makes Herc think of his wife's father, who died when she was a teenager and who Herc never met. But the man's impact on his daughter was great, and was how her son's name came to be Charles Donovan, because Herc's father was still alive at the time; otherwise, the fight over whose father's name would get top billing would have been the start of the next world war.

Jazmine likes the arrangement of Chuck's name, Chuck's drift phantom points out.

"Good for the both of you," Herc responds, with a touch of sarcasm. Clearly, it's a point of pride.

Raleigh doesn't know exactly what was 'said,' but from what was just discussed and what he knows of his sister he can surely guess. He snorts and goes back to eating.

* * *

"Good morning!" Raleigh chirps as they enter Jazmine's bedroom with her breakfast. "Rise and shine!"

Jazmine is almost entirely hidden beneath the bedcovers. She grunts.

They can't get her to care enough to sit up and eat, so Raleigh turns to Charlotte. The baby's awake but quiet, a condition her uncle immediately attempts to remedy. Herc can't see what he does, though he doesn't lay a finger on her, but in just a few seconds Charlotte is crying.

Jazmine is furious as she sits up, wide awake. "Go fuck yourself, you inconsiderate dickbag!"

Raleigh places the plate of food in her lap, the glass on the end table by the head of the bed, and then picks up Charlotte and begins to soothe her. "Feed your face."

Jazmine complies, with such violence that Herc's surprised she doesn't stab the inside of her mouth with the fork. "What the hell is this about, anyway?"

Raleigh grins. "It's your wedding day."

* * *

Of course, there have to be witnesses to the event. But there are more than Herc expected—a total of six, consisting of Evelyn, Darryl, Derrek, Tendo, Raleigh, and Mako. Eight, counting Jason and Charlotte.

It doesn't take very long at all, given that it's a nondenominational government ceremony. The celebrant is professional, neither hinting at nor outright saying what she thinks about their situation. She seems to have reasoned out at least some of their rationale, though, because she displays some embarrassment at the end after she says, "You may kiss your spouse."

But since Herc considered the possibility of that weeks back, he's not perturbed. He bends in and kisses Jazmine on the cheek, a gesture she returns to each of his. He must look a little surprised, because Raleigh wiggles the fingers of one hand where he's standing behind his sister, and when he sees he has Herc's attention he mouths the words, "It's a French thing."

With that, Herc's remarried; for the first time in over a decade he's technically no longer a widower. It's a somewhat strange sensation. He does have a sense of being chained for the second round, something that was absent when he married his wife—his first wife—but doesn't identify the chain as an unpleasant effect of marriage. Instead, he has more the sense that the chain is the burden of reality. By marrying Chuck's intended, he's giving up on any remote possibility that his son might be alive.

Jazmine plants her face in his chest and squeezes his ribs. Herc returns the embrace gently, fully aware of what she's going through. They don't really want each other—each has someone else they would have preferred to be with. But circumstances had thrust them together, and they have to make the best of it.

The celebrant congratulates them—with a very muted level of enthusiasm—and wishes them happiness and a long union. Herc doesn't argue. It's just part of her script, and he considers it preferable anyway that she's keeping it official so that no one can question the validity of the marriage.

Evelyn gently claps her hands once and says, "Since I need to speak with Jazmine about her case and I'm afraid it can't wait, there are refreshments at my office. I invite everyone to join us."

Tendo bows out to return to his family. Derrek hems and haws about work, but the power of his stomach wins out once again over his will—not nearly for the last time, either, Herc's sure—and he decides to have "a little something" before he goes back. Everyone piles into the vehicles, whether or not it was the one they arrived in, and convoy to Evelyn's office in Ryde.

On the way, Chuck's drift phantom nurses conflicted joy and sadness. Herc attempts to comfort it, but his heart isn't in it. It's just a bittersweet thing for all of them.

* * *

Aya is bustling around finishing the setup as they enter the office. She graciously invites everyone to help themselves to what Herc would call more than refreshments—it's a catered lunch.

Raleigh and Jazmine both zero in on what looks like pulled pork. Raleigh tries a mouthful while his sister watches, says, "Oh my God," with his mouth still full, and both begin piling their plates with it. Jason has apparently never experienced pulled pork, so his mother and uncle remedy that promptly. As with the tenderloin months back, Jason proves to be an enthusiastic carnivore.

Herc takes his turn getting food, and when he turns away from the table he finds Derrek standing there, face stuffed. Derrek has also chosen to make meat a major part of his meal, although that makes sense to Herc since the maintenance of his physique requires lots of protein. He does have vegetables and fruits, but the majority is meat. It forms a small, barren mountain ringed with lush colors.

Herc surveys the full contents of his friend's plate. "Does your wife know you're spoiling your supper?"

Derrek rolls his eyes. "Well, you could tell her and ruin the surprise."

Unlike Darryl, who by comparison is very cerebral, Derrek has always been a jock. Herc has never known him to not be an active participant in some sport or another, or several at a time. Which is why it's pretty much impossible to 'ruin the surprise' of a spoiled supper, because he'll eat his usual quantity since his metabolism is at peak operation. Darryl watches his weight almost as obsessively as a woman, given how sedentary his profession is, while Derrek flexes his muscles in mirrors and decides if they're of adequate size and shape; Herc's never seen him so much as glance at a set of scales or mention weight unless it's for a sport that divides players by such.

Herc leaves his friend to it and settles in one of the chairs provided as a courtesy for clients waiting to see Evelyn, then looks around to see how everyone's doing.

Raleigh and Jazmine have set Jason in another chair across the room. Jazmine is mostly focused on keeping the baby quiet and entertained, but both she and her brother are letting Jason choose things from their plates, which they then bite down to toddler-size and give to him. Derrek and Mako are an unlikely pair; Herc can't tell exactly what they're talking about, but it seems to have to do with law enforcement. Darryl and Evelyn are practically at the other end of the room, picking through their plates as they talk about something Herc can't quite make out. Aya is at her desk, presumably busy doing work things and pretending none of them are there.

Herc looks at his plate and eats slowly, allowing his mind to drift to nowhere on the background noise of the others' muted conversations. So he's quite startled when Darryl almost flops down into the chair beside his and sighs pointedly. "Aye?" he asks, with a much softer sigh of his own. Darryl has middle-child syndrome, so in private settings he has a bad habit of waiting to be noticed when he had a personal problem he needs help with. There's no point in assuming he'll speak first.

"How did you know when you were in love? How did you know when to propose?"

Herc chokes a little on a cherry tomato and looks at his friend, then over to where Evelyn is sitting on the floor with Charlotte in her lap, then at his friend again. It's not that Darryl has ever sworn off women, but he's said many times that legal work can lead to weird hours and that he doesn't want to have to deal with a woman who doesn't understand that. Logically, then, a woman also in the legal profession would be Darryl's ideal mate, but that isn't something that's ever crossed Herc's mind.

He finally gathers himself enough to say, "Well, I s'pose I knew because even though I was nervous as hell and always hyperaware, I was also completely comfortable when I was with her. Sort of like being terrified that I'd do something to embarrass myself in front of her and not wanting to because I always wanted to be at my best when I was around her, but at the same time knowing without a doubt that I'd never embarrass myself to the point that she'd look somewhere else. And I had the same feeling about her: there came a time when it occurred to me that nothing she might do that could be considered 'looking bad' would actually matter to me. If she got sick and threw up on my trainers, I'd just hold her hair back for her.

"And she did once," he adds. "Well, not on my trainers, but almost—if I hadn't known the look, she might have managed. But she'd had one too many at a mate's house before our date—"

"She drank _before_ your date?"

"Her mate had just had a bad breakup—he'd been cheating with something like seven other women."

Darryl, a sensitive and empathetic soul, wrinkles his nose. "What a tosser."

"As you can imagine, the drinking was commiserative, but she overdid it because she hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast," Herc explains. "I ended up cancelling the reservations we'd had, streamed online a movie she'd wanted to see, and we stayed in and drank water and ate eggs for supper. I kept a bin close just in case." He shrugs. "Being with her was worth it.

"As for proposing . . . That's a little more between you two. But I _can_ say there's no point in doing it if you don't know that you love her. That's how Sasha ended up being the one to propose to Derrek first—not because he wanted his ego stroked, but because she knew she loved him before he knew he loved her. He accepted but he was honest with her about how he felt, then he got cold feet and broke it off, then he figured out he loved her after all and proposed to her. That's why he worships her, because he found out that she loved him so much that after he ended it she didn't date anyone else. She hoped he'd come back."

Darryl nods. "That was almost two years, wasn't it?"

"It was." Herc looks at him. "You have to talk to her, Darro. Most women don't actually get starry-eyed if you start talking about marriage; they appreciate knowing where the two of you stand because they don't want to waste their time any more than you want to waste yours. And if she's one of the few who _does_ get starry-eyed, and then gets offended when you're straight with her, that's probably a good sign she's not mature enough for an adult relationship yet."

"I don't think that'll be a problem."

"Just throwing it out there."

There's quiet between them, then Darryl says, "Thanks, mate."

"Instead of thanking me, I'd rather you promise you won't hesitate," Herc tells him. "My wife is dead, but I had nearly twelve years with her. But Chuck and Jazmine weren't even able to marry—they had two or three years. Kaiju were responsible both of those times, but people have always been separated by a car crash, an exploding gas line, terrorism, health condition . . . anything. It could be you or her. I'm not saying you have to rush in with no plan, but don't try to make it perfect. If you botch it a little and she really loves you, she'll forgive you. Otherwise, if you try to wait for the right time, you'll miss it."

Darryl nods once. "Swear on my life. No hesitation."

Herc isn't quite sure he believes his perfectionist friend, but there's really nothing more to say on the topic, so he lets it slide.

Derrek sits in the chair on Herc's other side. "You two are just the life of the party."

"It's not a party, you ignorant cunt," Herc tells him, annoyed.

"Well, _someone_ doesn't know what a figure of speech is." Derrek looks past Herc at Darryl. "Doth mine ears deceive me? You cracked on to someone? Congratulations, mate! Jesus, that only took the better part of three decades. You should probably try a little harder to catch up."

Darryl and Herc both groan. Derrek is extremely nosy and probably qualifies as a 'speculative womanizer'; he doesn't touch or date or have sex with, but he does comment. A lot. And often in front of the woman in question. Herc and Darryl—who hasn't done much dating but has two sisters—have never been able to make him understand that objectifying women isn't generally flattering to them except in private situations, and instead upsets and offends them. Also any man they might be with who happens to be physically present.

Herc attempts to deflect. "He just has his eye on her, and it made him think. You know how he is."

Fortunately, Derrek doesn't bother to look too deeply into it because he's checking his watch. "Shit, I have to get back to work." He gets to his feet and swats Darryl in the side of the head. "Good luck, you hopeless son of bitch. And yes, I'll be best man at your wedding."

They watch him go, and then Herc says, "Darro, it's up to you and I won't be offended, but I feel I should let you know that there's a reason why his only job at my wedding was to make sure the catering went smoothly and why I had you do everything else." He looks from the closed door to his friend.

Darryl nods. "Believe it or not, Herc, I was just thinking that myself."

* * *

 **To Be Continued in . . .** **Chapter 10** **– The Resolution of the Conflict**

Herc still isn't reassured, and he isn't entirely sure why. He knows he isn't obligated to let Chuck's drift phantom do anything with Jazmine. Raleigh had suggested he do so, but Chuck's drift phantom is just that—a phantom. It isn't a piece of Chuck's mind or heart or soul trapped inside Herc, but instead a mere conglomeration of Chuck's memories that when certain conditions are met can be triggered to react. Letting Chuck's drift phantom kiss Jazmine would be more to ease Herc's guilt than anything, which Raleigh had said as well.

He asks, "What are you expecting?"

She blinks from where she's now on her knees in bed, preparing to settle down with her sleeping children. "I'm expecting a nice nap."

"No," he snaps, though he's careful to keep his voice down. "I mean from me."

She squints slightly at him, her jaw intentionally misaligned to convey her confusion. "I don't understand. Are we still talking about how uncomfortable you are around me?"

" _Yes_."

* * *

 **Answers To Questions You Didn't Even Know You Wanted To Ask:**

" _Bienvenue, ma petite,"_

French. "Welcome, my love" (literally, "Welcome, my little").

—

" _Lolo_ ,"

French slang for "milk" (properly, _lait_ ). I might be misusing it here, as there's nothing that directly connects the term to breastmilk; however, Google translate does offer "boob" as an alternate English translation, which implies there's at least a colloquial connection.

—

 _The Medicare people he speaks to on the next floor are pleased to help him_

Everything to do with the Australian healthcare system is doubtless riddled with inaccuracies. Please ignore them. Thank you.

—

 _It's not difficult to demonstrate how to roll her onto her side and keep her there while the baby is positioned to feed._

This is approximately the story told by a man (years ago) who was arguing against the assertion that a father has no real role in childcare after his baby's birth. He told the story in response to a claim of either men's general uselessness when it came to raising children or men's lack of need for paternity leave; honestly, it's been so long I don't remember which it was. In any case, he proved that a father willing to be involved in his child's care will find a way to do so and needs to be supported.

—

 _The celebrant is professional,_

Again, this part most assuredly has inaccuracies, mainly to help with mood. Please ignore these as well. Thank you.

—

If you find this fic to be somewhat fine, please take the time to drop me a line!

~RN (LS)


	10. The Resolution of the Conflict

**Word Count:** 9,490 ( **Total:** 89,290)

 **Rating:** T for language and some light sexual situations (all clothing stays on, but those who are squeamish about age gaps beware)

 **Date Submitted:** 3/9/18

* * *

 **Chapter 10** **– The Resolution of the Conflict**

* * *

Herc watches his grandson sleep. The toddler looks as much like Chuck as ever. He then looks at Charlotte, and smiles when her right arm jerks. It's violent enough that Jazmine flinches, snorts, and tenses, halfway awake in response, but when there's no accompanying distress she relaxes and drifts deeper into sleep again.

He's been so wrapped up in Jazmine's court case that he's forgotten about just _seeing_ his family, which is why he's staring at them now. It's the first time they've all napped together since Charlotte was born, and that's why they're on Herc's bed in his room—he has a full bed that can hold them with plenty of room to spare compared to the cramped space of Jazmine's single. Well, Chuck's single that Jazmine's been sleeping in.

Jason yawns and wakes up. He stretches, spots Herc, and smiles. "Hi," he murmurs.

"Hey, buddy," Herc replies, still smiling.

"Take a nap?" the toddler asks. The toddler who has apparently come to enjoy naps after protesting against them as a baby.

Herc almost says no, then wonders why. Raleigh is at the PPDC's new compound in Sydney, working with Mako and Tendo. No one is in the house except himself and the three on the bed in front of him. He really has no reason to be awake at that time of day—it's hot out and he's better off not moving much if he can help it. Taking a nap would by design lower his body temperature and keep him cool without the need to turn up the air conditioning. Besides, other than vegetating in front of the television and probably falling asleep anyway, there's not much else Herc can do in or around the house without disturbing his family.

So he says, "I think I will."

Jazmine is being what is apparently her usual compact self, so she isn't taking up much space on the bed. As is also apparently usual, she's curled around Charlotte. Jason is lying behind his mother, essentially in ownership of the majority of the bed. Herc exerts his right and authority as an adult and the family patriarch to take most of that space from his grandson, who seems fine with the loss but does demand a little play in exchange since he has a bit of energy thanks to his nap.

Herc keeps the excitement to the bare minimum to prevent the ladies from getting annoyed—no thanks to Chuck's drift phantom, which seems completely prepared to romp—and eventually Jason yawns and is done for the time being. He drifts off again, his back to his mother and his forehead resting against Herc's arm. Herc waits to make sure he's gone before closing his own eyes, and despite having never done such a thing in the past, Chuck's drift phantom takes a final cautious aural survey of the room and the house beyond before giving its permission for him to sleep.

"Thanks," Herc mutters. "You aren't going to do this every time, are you? Because it'll get old fast."

Chuck's drift phantom is firm and entirely unapologetic: Since Jazmine has married Herc and left behind the Becket/Lapierre family to pass into their care as the newest Hansen, it's their job to be that much more vigilant about her safety. At the absolute minimum, if anything happened to her then it would make them look bad, and until Herc's brother the Hansen name had been above reproach. It had, therefore, been a goal of Chuck's to return to that status, which meant protecting children _and_ wife.

Herc is surprised by such an old-fashioned belief, especially given how aware Chuck seemed to have been about Jazmine's capacity for self-defense. There's also the fact that marriage no longer requires a woman to take her husband's name, even if it's still commonly done, and Jazmine appears to be very attached to her French heritage.

The response from the drift phantom is testy agreement, followed by the pointed observations that probably the vast majority of people wouldn't know or care about such things and would call her "Missus Hansen" anyway, and that because it was technically correct—just as it would be technically correct, in the interest of equality, for someone to call Herc "Mister Lapierre"—Jazmine wouldn't bother to express her preference to anyone she was only interacting with in passing. So most of the world would know her as a Hansen, and that has to be remembered.

"All right, all right, whatever," Herc says. He pulls his pillow farther under his head. "Fuck's sake. I just didn't realize you'd come fresh out of the Dark Ages, is all."

* * *

When he awakens an hour later, it's a gloriously slow process. Jason has migrated away from Jazmine and over to him, and is a small warm spot against his chest. Chuck also preferred napping with Herc, so the toddler's sleep-squirming isn't all that foreign. Jazmine still has her back to the rest of the bed, and Herc by extension; her breathing is quiet and even. Charlotte is even quieter, though Herc is satisfied that she's okay when he dares to peek over Jazmine's side. Without actually thinking about the wisdom of the move beyond not jostling Jason too much, Herc rests his chin on Jazmine's arm and for a moment looks out the window into the back yard. The house is silent, and beyond the house the constant drone of Sydney traffic is distant and easy to ignore.

He was raised in Australia's largest city, so it was only during his deployments that he was introduced to nights that were practically without sound. Some of his city-dwelling compatriots had found it disconcerting, much to the amusement of the "farm boys" they ridiculed for other things, but Herc decided he liked it. It's impossible to find a totally dark, silent corner of Sydney, though—and he didn't want to lose the convenience of everything being crammed together anyway—so his compromise was the purchase of the duplex, which is on the outskirts of the city. While not terribly dark at night given the atrocious light pollution from the city, it's still mostly quiet even in the middle of the day. Herc relishes it.

He puts his head back down on the bed and closes his eyes, content to let the rest of the afternoon pass without his supervision. Jason yawns and snuggles against him. Chuck's drift phantom, however it's possible for it to be lethargic, does the same. Herc sighs, content, and hugs his sons to his heart.

* * *

"Except that it's true," Raleigh says. He got back to the duplex and started making supper before Herc was able to wake up a second time.

"What is?" Herc demands. At the time, he fell asleep before it could really settle into his brain, but after coming around again he remembered identifying both Chuck _and_ Jason as his sons. He's scared all over again that he's losing his sense of self, so he kind of blurted his fear to the younger man.

"That Jason's your son," Raleigh says patiently. "Isn't he? He's your grandson, so he's your son removed one generation. He's also your stepson, since you married his mother."

"You'd be right if either of those had been the way it'd _felt_ I'd meant it," Herc replies testily.

Raleigh is calm. He turns from the range and considers Herc before turning back and saying, "After Yancy was killed, there was a period of about three months where I didn't respond to any name but his. I talked like him, walked like him, ate like him, smiled like him. Most of the grief counselors tried to pass it off as a method of coping. J-science called it what it was—traumatic identity dissociation. That is, the circumstances of our separation were so sudden, so violent, so terrifying, that inside my brain Raleigh was in denial, and to avoid facing the reality all around me went into hiding. It left a void in which what of Yancy was in me could fill; like any good big brother, he sensed Raleigh's distress and tried to offer protection in the only way he knew and was capable of."

"What happened?" Herc asks.

Raleigh shrugs. "For those three months Yancy had two faces—one that faced the world and one that faced Raleigh. He knew he was dead, or at least guessed it, and he pushed Raleigh to accept it and come forward again. Eventually, Raleigh did, but Yancy's still always there." He gestures at himself. "I know that this body was at one time the body of Raleigh Becket, but now it's sort of a shared body; Yancy generally tries to stay somewhere in the background and keep out of the way so that Raleigh can live his life, but in practice Raleigh is happier having Yancy close, so his influence is strong."

Herc gets what's not being said. "You don't know who you are?"

"I know who I'm supposed to be," Raleigh hedges. "And I know that sometimes, I'm not that person. But I have the benefit of knowing that when I'm not that person, there's only one other person I could be. And I know that that other person would never intentionally hurt me, so it's okay to not be who I'm supposed to be if I do something that's not what the me I'm supposed to be would do." He wrinkles his nose. "If that makes any sense."

It does. Barely. "Then you don't care— No. It just doesn't _matter_ who you are."

Raleigh nods. "In my case, Raleigh feels guilt about Yancy's death. He's willing to share his body to give Yancy—whatever of Yancy is here—a lifetime of experiences, so he does."

Herc thinks he understands. Because whatever the circumstances, he and his junior share one reality: their copilots are dead. Raleigh's loss was much more traumatic—a cocky young man whose experiences with loss during wartime were few or nonexistent—so it makes sense that his reaction would be immediate and dramatic. Herc's past as a military airman had, by contrast, prepared him for loss and survivor's guilt. His trauma was quieter.

"I don't think that you're losing your identity," Raleigh told him, "despite what it might have sounded like when I was explaining it to Mako and Tendo. However identity works, I'm sure Hercules Hansen is whole and solid in your head. But I also think your guilt means that Herc occasionally steps back and gives Chuck the room to . . . peek out . . . from time to time. With or without your explicit permission. And whatever sort of prick he might have been, he's not enough of one to keep pushing you back for his own sake.

"It may not even be possible to," Raleigh muses. "It's not something I've felt a need to explore. But I'd say you've kept your brother's influence down, and you drifted with him for nearly as many years."

Not as often, though. Still, it's reasonable conjecture. Herc doesn't feel terribly guilty about his brother and never had—that trouble was something his brother brought upon himself. And while it might be arguable that Chuck had done the same, Chuck was still Herc's son. As a father, it was Herc's responsibility to protect his child from harm, but he failed many times over. And while Chuck frequently exasperated Herc with his behavior, mostly Herc was nothing but proud of him. It isn't a far reach to suggest Herc's subconscious pulls Herc back at times to give Chuck some sunlight and try again to make up for past failures.

"It's your body," Raleigh reminds him. "You were there first. You don't _have_ to let anyone else in there with you do anything. But if you're looking for some way to apologize, make amends, ease your guilt, whatever . . . think about it. In my experience it does help, and occasionally it can even be kind of fun."

"Fun?"

"Shared joys are doubled joys."

Herc considers what his junior has said. It makes sense and offers comfort on multiple fronts. He's given Chuck's drift phantom some rein before, but only ever very deliberately. There's no reason it couldn't happen, if just a handful of times, in some other way.

"I strongly doubt it's a coincidence you ended up in this duplex, in the same building as your grandson," Raleigh says after a time. "You may have decided by yourself to move out of your old home, but when you were looking for a new place you were directed here."

"Already suspected that," Herc admits.

Raleigh turns once again from the range and concludes the discussion by saying simply, "From now on, do whatever feels natural. Even when Chuck was alive this could have happened to you—the only reason it didn't was because of that exactly. Your susceptibility hasn't changed since then, and won't unless you let it."

* * *

What feels natural is the idea of kissing his wife, but Herc finds that difficult. Not because he considers it a betrayal of his first wife, but because his second wife is approximately half his age. It seems . . . gross. Like he'd be taking advantage of the situation. Chuck's drift phantom scathingly advises him to actually take Raleigh's advice and let _Chuck_ kiss his wife.

"You'd be using _my_ body, you little bastard," Herc snaps as he makes himself his first cup of coffee—the one he uses to help him warm up before he begins the day. He'll have another with breakfast. "Haven't you thought about how that might upset _her_? Like it did _last time_?"

No. Of course not.

Chuck's drift phantom subsides, but with a final snarled comment that Herc could _ask_ if it would upset her rather than just assuming it would, especially given that the last time they kissed she didn't know who Herc was to her or Jason, so age apparently isn't much of a turn-off in her mind. She isn't stupid, and Chuck told her a lot about jaegers and drifting that he probably shouldn't have. Her comfort level aside, the concept wouldn't be that alien.

* * *

Jazmine comes out of her room for breakfast, Charlotte in arm and Jason in tow. Jason, who's rubbing his eyes, spots Herc and detours to his grandfather. Even though the toddler says in a sort of expectant, entitled way, "Daddy," Herc smiles and picks him up. Jason hugs his neck.

"Could you take care of Charlotte for a few hours?" Jazmine asks as she fetches herself a glass of milk. "He needs my attention."

Herc looks from Jazmine to Jason and back, concerned. "Anything wrong?"

"I'm just . . . ignoring him. Because of her."

Herc starts to excuse her neglect—Charlotte is heavily reliant on her, after all—but decides it's best to not say so in front of Jason. "Sure." He hasn't spent a lot of time with his granddaughter anyway, so it'll do them both good to get to know each other better.

"Thanks."

Jazmine proceeds to make breakfast. When she puts down plates of pancakes, Herc sees that she's given Jason two pitted cherries on top of his, four on top of Herc's, and six on top of Raleigh's.

"Why does he get more?" Herc asks, less irritated and more curious. He likes cherries, but not that much.

"Because he's done the most for me as far as active care," she explains. "Your generosity has been mostly financial, which I deeply appreciate but is still less of a physical strain than what Raleigh's been doing. He's going to make himself sick if he doesn't start relaxing and asking for help."

Though she said that, when Raleigh appears a few minutes later with a grimace and one hand on the side of neck, he goes straight to where Jazmine is frying bacon on the range and tugs at her shirt with his free hand. When she looks at him, he raises his bracing hand enough to point at his neck. She turns the heat down on the range a little, spins him around, feels his neck, then goes somewhere low on his back and feels around.

"Table," she says. He sits obediently in a chair and pushes away the plate there, folds his arms on the table, and rests his forehead on them. Jazmine works on the spot on his back that she picked out. ". . . How about now?"

Raleigh lifts his head and stretches his neck. He nods and puts his head back down. Jazmine disappears for a few minutes, returns with an old-fashioned hot water bottle, heats water on the range, fills the hot water bottle with it, plugs the bottle, then slides it down the collar of Raleigh's shirt. What looks like a shoelace is looped around its neck, and she hooks that over Raleigh's head. She returns to the bacon. By the time she's done making breakfast, Raleigh is clearly feeling better. He's very pleased about his six cherries and relishes each one.

"You're going back to bed," Jazmine tells her brother after a breakfast of what, for her, is mostly fruits. "Herc's going to look after Charlotte for a while so I can give Jason some attention."

Raleigh shrugs as he gets to his feet. "Cuss if you need anything." He takes his plates, utensils, and glass to the sink before wandering out of the room.

* * *

When Jazmine puts Jason and Charlotte down for a nap after lunch, Herc is prodded pointedly by Chuck's drift phantom until he says, "Jazmine . . . would it bother you if I said I wanted to kiss you?"

She barely gives it any thought. "Nope."

"I'm serious."

She looks at him. "You think I'm not?"

"I'm old."

Her gaze flattens. "You think that because your son was younger than me my tastes are that narrow?"

"I could be your father."

"Irrelevant. You aren't." She points and says, "If you recall, I said before that I'd have sex with you. That hasn't changed merely because I've learned you're my dead fiancé's father—my ability to recognize an attractive man isn't swayed by what's considered morally acceptable in this day and age. The only thing I didn't like was your self-serving assaults on my person, which have stopped, so we have no issue as far as I'm concerned."

Herc still isn't reassured, and he isn't entirely sure why. He knows he isn't obligated to let Chuck's drift phantom do anything with Jazmine; Raleigh suggested he do so, but Chuck's drift phantom is just that—a phantom. It isn't a piece of Chuck's mind or heart or soul trapped inside Herc, but instead a mere conglomeration of Chuck's memories that when certain conditions are met can be triggered to react. Letting Chuck's drift phantom kiss Jazmine would be more to ease Herc's guilt than anything, which Raleigh had said as well.

He asks, "What are you expecting?"

She blinks from where she's now on her knees in bed, preparing to settle down with her sleeping children. "I'm expecting a nice nap."

"No," he snaps, though he's careful to keep his voice down. "I mean from me."

She squints slightly at him, her jaw intentionally misaligned to convey her confusion. "I don't understand. Are we still talking about how uncomfortable you are around me?"

" _Yes_."

She sighs. Her gaze shifts briefly to the wall. When she refocuses on him in the doorway, she says, "Herc, it's really _your_ problem, okay? I think I've made myself quite clear at least twice now. My brothers told me all sorts of things about jaegers and being copilots that I imagine they didn't have permission to talk about, and Chuck told me other things. When Raleigh told me Chuck was your son, he tried to explain what he thought was going on with you. If he's right, what happens from here is up to _you_ —it's not my place to dictate."

She's right, of course, but Herc still wants someone _else_ to figure out what the hell he wants. Fortunately, she has pity on him.

"Listen, if you suspect you have feelings for me—for any reason—and don't know what to do about them, how is that any different from the way you felt about your wife or some past girlfriend? Shouldn't we go on some dates or something, so you can explore what you're feeling?" Her brows draw in and up in quiet distress. "And even if you decide that what you're feeling is from Chuck, why is that bad? I mean, I'd think if you found me repulsive, no influence from him would ever force you to be attracted to me. Which means that you, as a man separate from him, must see something in me that's appealing. Now I agree that if he were here this would be a problem, but . . . he isn't. Not anymore. You don't have to act like you got caught with your hand in a cookie jar."

Herc decides that's a pretty good analogy.

"I'm . . ." She sighs again, but tiredly, and stretches out beside her children. Her eyes close. "I don't have the energy to force you, but I am _telling_ you to go to my computer and watch that video you brought home for me. The one you said you got from Chuck's laptop. I guarantee you'll find it enlightening."

* * *

Chuck starts off sitting up straight, but even in the terrible lighting of Hong Kong's shatterdome Herc can see how exhausted he is. After a minute or so his shoulders round and his head drops slightly. He yawns and rubs his eyes—precisely the way his son does—ending the display with a groan.

"Hi, bub," he murmurs. "I must look and sound like shit, but I'm squeezing this in while I can. The marshal has increased our dry runs, exercise schedules . . . pretty much everything except food and sleep. I got a video done for Jay a few days back, at least." He sighs and finds a faint smile as he props his chin in one hand and closes his eyes. "I wish you were here. I'd love to have a cuddle with your tits right about now."

He goes silent, and after about ten seconds Herc realizes he's fallen asleep. There's a very obvious edit to new footage of an awake Chuck, who looks even more exhausted than before.

"I'm sorry I passed out on you," he says. He goes quiet again, then groans. "I _really_ wish you were here."

He quiets once more and stares down at the desk below his laptop for several moments. Finally, he looks up and says solemnly, "Duckie, I think . . . I think this bomb run is going to kill me."

Herc's heart constricts violently and begins to ache.

"If anything goes wrong," he continues, " _anything_ . . . I mean, for fuck's sake, it's Challenger Deep. The bottom of the planet. Help would never arrive in time, even if a rescue team were on standby.

"So I want you to know that I love you. I love you so Goddamn much that poetry wouldn't do any justice to what I feel when I see you or think of you. I know that's obnoxiously sappy—I know—but it's true. I love you." He gazes earnestly into the camera. "And I know that you love me, so you don't have to worry about whether or not you said it enough. You kept my baby when I asked, you let me be there for both of you, you tolerate it when I pass out on your bed, you feed me, you just generally put up with all my shit . . ." He stops and nods with a gentle firmness. "I know you love me."

He gives the camera a crooked smile. "And now that you're suitably buttered up, I need to tell you that I still haven't told Da about you and Jay." The smile fades. "Unfortunately, I've reached the point of no return on that. Da got hurt on the last drop—broke his collarbone and jammed his arm a little. He'll live, but he's not fit to jockey. I'm going down with Marshal Pentecost instead." He sighs. "I just can't tell Da anymore, Duckie—I don't think he could handle it on top of having to leave the saddle. So however this video finds you, go forward knowing that. I'm not going to ask you to look for him, but I won't tell you not to. He can be a stubborn, crotchety son of a bitch when he wants—even worse than I am, if you can imagine—and you and Jay don't need that kind of stress. Especially not Jay. Not at his age.

"But if you do decide to look for him . . . If I could ask you one more favour, it'd be to look after him. Da's a guardian," he explains. "It's his purpose. He _needs_ to protect. When he was a kid it was his brother, when he was an adult it was Australia, when he was married it was my mum, and when my mum was gone it was me. If this run really does go to hell, he won't have anything. Without the jaegers the world will be at the mercy of the kaiju, and I know Da would grab a fucking blunderbuss if that was all he could find and try to fight, but I don't think he'd try to survive. It wouldn't be worth the effort to do that much.

"The good news is that he's a bit like a dog: you remember to feed him, water him, put him out for a wee, pat him on the head sometimes and rub his belly other times, and that's enough. Let him be a guardian to you and Jay and he'll be happy as a clam, no matter how much he might bitch.

"And if . . ." Chuck hesitates for a moment. "Jazmine, Da and I have drifted for, what, six years now? More or less. We each have the other's memories, in whole or in part, stuck in our heads. Nothing is a secret in the drift. This may sound disgusting to you, but I've had sex with my mum. A lot. I'm telling you that because Da's had more experience with the drift than I do so he's better at keeping a lid on it. But if I die on this bomb run, he might . . . let out . . . the part of me that's in him. Not intentionally, I don't think, just as an expression of grief. Because he's good at protecting but shit at grieving. And he might get . . ." Chuck trails off and then raises his hands, his palms toward the camera as he curls his thumbs and fingers twice in a grabbing motion. "He's not a pervert or anything—at least, no more so than most other adult humans—but it still may not occur to him at the time that he's doing anything he shouldn't, if my memories are prominent in his head. It may be an on again, off again situation. So please be patient with him. And . . ."

He stops and looks to the side for a few moments. When he refocuses on the camera, he says gently, "My da is a good man, Duckie. He's everything I'm not and then some. You put up with me, so I know you can put up with him. But like I said, we have each other's memories, and because of that we've gotten more like each other over time; maybe I got something from him or maybe he got something from me. So if you find you like him and he likes you, that's all right with me. Be happy."

Herc is stunned and humbled by his son's forethought. But it does explain Chuck's drift phantom's lack of jealousy in regards to Jazmine. Perhaps as a consequence of being an only child with priority access to most things he wanted, Chuck was a jealous creature who never liked to share what he perceived to belong to him. For him to look and sound as fine with the idea as he seemed, he had to have been thinking about it for a while, gotten himself used to it, and then seen the conditions where it might be beneficial. Herc still doesn't know if he's comfortable with . . . everything . . . but it helps to know that he wouldn't be betraying his son.

* * *

Herc is restive, and not entirely because of Chuck's drift phantom. Now that he knows the prosecutor is a cultist, he doesn't want Jazmine in the same courtroom. In the same building. On the same _block_ , for that matter. But since the parental leave ended Jazmine has insisted on attending because it's her case, so she's sitting on his left the way she has been so far. She's been behaving more or less normally, if looking a bit more surly about her situation. Her brother is also in attendance, but not sitting where he sat before. Herc has no idea where he is.

The prosecutor, for his part, has _upgraded_ his "solution" for Jazmine's illegality from merely deporting her and taking her children to imprisoning her and taking her children. He's also somehow gotten his hands on the fact that Herc was previously in solitary confinement. Herc makes a note to tell Tendo to find out whether it was a leak, a hack, or infiltration that spread that.

"It was voluntary," the prosecutor admits, "but that merely means he was able to walk out when he liked. Which he did, with no indication that he took precautions to protect those around him. The man has an unexamined, untreated medical condition; he is unfit to be given custody of his grandchildren. He's a _danger_ to them!"

Darryl looks, alarmed, at Herc. Herc waves him off, and says when the judge prompts him for an answer, "I was in confinement, but he's acting like it was for mental instability. It wasn't. And contrary to what he said, I _was_ examined and the doctor determined that I wasn't contagious, so I went home. But I'm surprised he'd know about it, seeing as the PPDC isn't required to report directly to Australia except in cases of contagion. For the record, my 'confinement' was merely to the interior of the PPDC grounds so I wouldn't risk infecting my civilian neighbors—one of which was a vulnerable child. If he thinks I was endangering anyone then I'd like to see the paperwork he has regarding my condition at that time."

Of course, there is none unless it's forged. Most everything about that incident was done word-of-mouth by Tendo and Raleigh, and the PPDC doctor who'd examined him afterward had officially given him a clean bill of health. The DHA's cultist prosecutor would have to spend more time and money to prove conspiracy if he wants the judge to believe Herc is dangerous.

Darryl isn't as convinced as the judge and hisses, "That's something I needed to know!"

Herc looks at him. "I can see the value of warning you about it if I'd actually been treated for something other than the flu, but how was I supposed to know he'd try to use my having a normal, transient physical illness as proof of my unfitness to be around Jason?"

Darryl still doesn't believe him, but Herc isn't worried. Darryl has always been one of his most intuitive friends, a valuable skill limited only by a lack of telepathic powers. Whatever Darryl may suspect, the only way to confirm it will be to get Herc to confess, and like hell Herc is going to do that.

* * *

The judge deliberates for several days. Herc spends the time dividing his energy between his grandchildren; he still doesn't know either of them that well, but Jason is very much like his father and even Charlotte has a few of the mannerisms Chuck had during the same part of his own life. Jazmine is as protective and attentive a mother as she has been before and as much as Herc could have asked for, though she's still in a perpetually exhausted phase since Charlotte is up at all hours demanding a meal or a change. Raleigh is . . .

Raleigh is trying to get Herc in a massive amount of trouble, is all that Herc can imagine. He's acquired a paintball gun from somewhere—possibly Tendo, who's ideally suited to be an accomplice in something like this—and from time to time will "go for a walk," during which time the journalists camping in the front yard will be shot in the back, buttocks, legs, or arms with a variety of fluorescent paint colors. Equipment is also not safe from attack. The assaults are entirely random, and the pattern of splatter changes as the shooter tries to evade detection. Everyone seems to be aware that it's all Raleigh's doing and are clearly irritated about it, but since he appears unarmed when he leaves and when he returns, they can't prove it and sue him for damages.

One positive thing about it is that all of the paparazzi and a lot of the tabloid journalists have vacated to protect their cameras; the gossip isn't worth the damage to their gear. They also may have left because they noticed that they, specifically, are being targeted. Certainly, with so many of them gone the assaults are much fewer and farther between—though if anyone still around gets pushy it's a guarantee that there'll be a response later in the day or during the following day. The assaults have largely encouraged the journalists to behave, and as a sort of reward Raleigh and Jazmine are more willing to step out and spend time answering questions.

Herc doesn't make a point to visit with the press—he's really had enough of them after a decade—but he does spare them some time if he has to go out for some reason, such as grocery shopping. It makes the interactions much more bearable, though the questions themselves are often painful regardless. He doesn't really want to talk about Chuck, to anyone, but the media want him to. Over and over. And to protect Jazmine and his grandchildren, he reopens the wounds in his heart. Over and over.

Thankfully, Chuck's drift phantom is always there afterward, to shore him up inside.

* * *

On the day the judge makes his decision, the air conditioning in the courthouse breaks again. It makes Herc wonder what the hell his taxes are going to, if not the upkeep of public buildings. This judge, however, is superior to his predecessor in that he takes the time to ask Jazmine if she'd prefer to delay the verdict to a later date.

Jazmine refrains from snorting, though Herc can tell she wants to. "No, sir. I appreciate your courtesy, but now that I've given birth the strain on my body is different. The water provided by the court is sufficient."

"Very well."

The judge allows both sides the opportunity to provide any last-minute evidence or information and make their closing statements. The DHA prosecutor waxes veiled-xenophobic for well over an hour; Evelyn rises, tells the judge she has no more to offer, and sits back down. The judge then recesses the court for an early lunch, much to the irritation of Herc, who just wants it all done with. When everyone's back in the courtroom an hour later, the judge goes through all the typical ceremony and then gets to his ruling.

Herc would have lunged to his feet had Darryl not intuited what he intended to do and held him to his chair by one arm. The judge has decided that Jazmine will, in accordance with the law, be deported for overstaying her visa. Because of the ages of her children, they will be sent with her. However, given that there is no indication that she intentionally overstayed as a form of economic migration and because her children are half Australian, she'll be permitted to reapply for a visa in two years instead of three or ten or never.

Evelyn and Jazmine are graceful in their reaction to the ruling.

Herc is most definitely not, particularly with Chuck's drift phantom's fury acting as kindling to the fire.

The DHA prosecutor is even less so. Any composure he has possessed to this point, he loses. He argues, trying to reword everything until the judge's mind is changed. The judge calls him down for it. The prosecutor then reaches into his blazer and retrieves something. Herc doesn't really see the gun itself as much as he sees the way the prosecutor is holding it—the proper, stable hold—and understands from that how things have escalated. The DHA's cultist prosecutor shoots the judge or at least shoots at him; either way, the judge falls out of sight.

The bailiffs are closing in, but they can't shoot back without risking friendly fire. They, however, can take the risk of rushing him because they have bulletproof vests. Herc grabs Darryl, who's closer to the psychopath and more vulnerable, yanks him back, and steps in front of him. Herc locks eyes with the cultist as the other man swings around toward him, arms raised. For a moment, Herc is absolutely calm as he stares down the barrel of the handgun. In his chest, Chuck's drift phantom is swelling with a cold fury. If that traitorous son of a bitch expects him to cower and beg for his life . . .

He gasps. His chest is suddenly burning. He staggers back. His knees weaken and give out, but he's caught before he hits his head and eased the rest of the way to the floor. It's getting increasingly difficult to breathe.

"Jesus," Darryl says, breathless with panic as he tears Herc's shirt open. Herc doesn't have the ability to tell him to watch his back. "You stupid cunt . . . _Stupid_ cunt!"

Evelyn appears with a bottle of the court's water and produces a lacy white handkerchief. "Here."

Chuck's drift phantom rages at him in panicked fury, _demanding_ that he pull it together for once and stop being so melodramatic, but Herc just can't stay conscious. Not even for a memory of his son.

* * *

Once he thinks about it, Herc realizes he didn't ever expect to wake up.

Except he did.

Derrek is sleeping in his uniform in the vinyl-upholstered visitor's chair beside Herc's bed, gun in hand and finger on the trigger. Herc chooses to tempt fate and rattles the bedrail of what's obviously a hospital bed. His friend sits bolt upright, brings the gun to bear on the window on the other side of the room, and shouts, "Stop! New South Wales police!"

It hurts like hell to laugh—even just the weak, short burst he has the energy for—but it's worth it.

Derrek lets out a noise between a sigh and a groan. "Goddamn you, Hansen. Can't you take this seriously? Jesus Christ . . ." He holsters his gun and leans onto the mattress to hug Herc's head carefully.

The behavior is unusual for Derrek, who's a complete marshmallow with his wife but a real man's man with everyone else, so Herc asks, "What, no kiss?"

"Unfortunately for you," is the dry response, "you're taken again and I have too much class to poach." Still, a kiss is bestowed to his crown. "There. I can at least do that so you can say you had my mouth on your head. Just don't tell anyone which one and you'll be golden."

Morbidly curious, Herc asks, "Did I die?"

"A few times," Derrek says into the pillow. "If you could not do it anymore, that'd be grand." He sits up and presses the button that will bring a nurse to the room. "You scared the fuck out of Darro and me, mate."

Herc feels nothing about the revelation. He's pretty much been ready to die since his wife died, and almost looking for an opportunity to since Chuck died. It's far more a surprise that he didn't stay dead than that he died multiple times.

Exhaustion washes over Herc—the prank and laughter really took it out of him. "I'm going back to sleep."

"Probably shouldn't do that," Derrek tells him. "The night-duty nurse is a work of art."

The nurse on duty shows up right then, and though she's not ugly she's also not what Herc would consider a work of art. He figures she isn't the nurse his friend was talking about. Derrek is animated with her anyway, happy to tell her about how he found out Herc was awake.

"The knob scared the bejeezus out of me because he's a terrible friend."

The nurse tries to hide her amusement, but she ultimately fails. "You boys shouldn't be roughhousing when one of you is so seriously hurt."

Herc silently dismisses them and goes back to sleep.

* * *

Derrek is still with him, again asleep with gun drawn and finger on the trigger, the next time Herc wakes.

"Oï," Herc calls. Derrek flinches, but doesn't draw a bead on the window this time. "Do you always sleep with your gun like that?"

Derrek graces him with a flat look and holsters the gun. "Hansen, I'm not here just because I'm your friend. I'm here because Eternity in Blue has made an announcement that they plan to kill you, and our operatives have found out that they mean it—they've put a price on your head and are reaching out to bounty hunters. And they're just the one we know of. There'd be more guys in this room if the hospital would allow it, but they compromised by giving you a VIP room and letting us station plain-clothes watches from the critical care waiting room to here."

Herc isn't terribly worried. It's not the first time a kaiju cult has wanted to kill him. In fact, the PPDC has been aware that most of the world's cults each have a hit list of jaeger pilots, and given his tenure Herc is arguably on every single one of them; Azure Rapture and Aoi Tenshi were the first ones to announce their targets, way back in 2017, and Herc had been on both of those lists. As a precaution, the PPDC had sent agents underground to keep track of which cults threatened whom, and though Herc has never seen his own list, Tendo mentioned once that someone had indeed put in brackets at the top the phrase "all of them."

It's something the PPDC largely hasn't bothered to share with law enforcement, since the cults do plenty of other illegal things that they're being sought for. But Chuck was actually stabbed in the back by a cultist in Hong Kong—Stacker kept that very hush-hush for a variety of reasons—and there were other rangers attacked even before that, none of which were reported on once the Jaeger Program fell out of favor. It was just another hazard of the job to rangers, and nobody outside the JP cared. So Herc isn't surprised his friend has no idea that he's had a bull's-eye on his back since nearly the moment he was instated as a jaeger pilot. It's merely that the prosecutor is the first one brave or stupid enough to get close and really make an attempt.

"Is the judge all right? Did you get the bastard?"

Derrek snorts. "Yes, and of course we did. We would have anyway, since it was in a courtroom, but your little wife and her brother pretty much delivered the cunt on a silver platter. He's licensed for that handgun, by the way."

Chuck's drift phantom clamors and Herc doesn't disagree. "Is _she_ all right?"

"They're fine. They've gone to the PPDC compound with the kids and are staying there. Her brother and I have been in regular contact."

The new PPDC compound Herc commands is far smaller than any of the old shatterdome compounds, but it's still fenced off with chain link topped by razor wire and patrolled regularly by heavily armed and armored strike troopers. Jazmine, Jason, and Charlotte will be as safe there as Herc—or Chuck—could want.

"The boss was offended when they said they didn't want police protection," Derrek adds, "but I say let 'em go wherever they want as long as it's secure. It's cheaper and it leaves more of us available to protect you and carry out an investigation."

"Should transfer me there."

"Like hell," Derrek says. "They've already barred me entry once—I had to speak to your girl through the fence. I'm not letting them stop me from checking up on you too."

"Jesus Christ, you're such a _mum_."

"Your mum likes to know you're not dead, Hansen."

"I'm Marshal. They'd have to let you in if I told them to."

"I'll think about it."

Herc rolls his eyes and shifts under the thin hospital blanket. "You do that while I sleep."

"Yes _sir_."

* * *

The next time Herc comes around, Darryl is sitting where Derrek had been. An officer Herc doesn't know but who Derrek probably hand-picked is across the room in another chair. Herc finds the strength to reach out and poke his friend, who's staring blank-faced at the television and clearly seeing none of it.

Darryl flinches and looks at him. "Herc . . ."

"How's your love life going?"

"Is that seriously all that's on your mind?"

"Well, I'd much rather be in the infirmary in the PPDC compound where I could make sure my grandkids are safe, but Dezza said no. So you get to be my second concern."

Darryl sighs and rubs the side of his neck. "It's not. We're both focused on other things."

"I told you—"

"Attorneys get death threats all the time, Herc. We understand our mortality and have an agreement for the time being. Fuck off."

"Fine. Anything interesting happen—anywhere—while I'm lapsing in and out of consciousness?"

Darryl intentionally annoys him by reciting some random useless bullshit about reality show stars and other pop-culture idiocy. Then comes more relevant world news. Apparently, Russia wants to make up for the time lost to the kaiju, because the hacking and political propaganda traceable to there is again on the increase, and that isn't all; China's back to trying to annex waters and islands through bullying; North Korea is still looking to get itself wiped from the map; those African nations that had been wise enough to cease hostilities are picking up where they had left off; and the United States of America is being itself, simultaneously practicing covert and overt imperialism in as many countries as there's adequate military and undercover agents available to distribute to. After twelve long years of a united global war against alien invasion, it's international infighting as usual.

Herc groans. Most of it he was already aware of, either by virtue of just being alive long enough to know the signs or through various connections with people in positions of power, but it's good to know that the public is being informed. With or without official confirmation. "So much for my dreams of world peace."

Darryl snorts. "You know we would have only turned the jaegers on each other if given the chance."

"Believe me, I had no doubt whatsoever. You didn't pilot one of those things and fail to realize how you'd have to destroy it after the kaiju were gone just to keep humanity from self-destructing even faster. Anything local I should know about? Other than that the cults want me dead, because that's not news."

There's really nothing of import. Darryl fills him in on the recent politicking in and around Parliament, then tells him to get some more sleep.

* * *

Despite Derrek's theatrical whining protests, Herc decides to spend the remainder of his convalescence in the PPDC compound. Once the doctors okay him for travel, that is. He makes a point to introduce his friend to the gatekeepers on duty, and instructs the latter to permit the former entry.

"He'll need to be searched each time, sir," is the response. "Protocol."

"He'll let you search him," Herc answers, and then looks squarely at Derrek, "or he doesn't come in."

Derrek rolls his eyes. "I'm a _police officer_ , dickheads."

"Seems you haven't noticed, but a _government prosecutor_ just tried to kill Darro and me," Herc replies. "If the circumstances are right, anyone is capable of doing anything."

"I am truly offended by your implication, you paranoid cunt."

Herc isn't moved. "You'll get over it. Now go home—I'm sure your wife's waiting."

"Yeah, someone on this planet wants me around." Derrek gets into his cruiser, shuts the door, and rolls the window down. "At least I didn't get married because some pretty young thing felt sorry for me."

Herc grabs the rifle of one of the strike troopers at the gate and points it at the police car, a little to the side of his friend's head. God forbid the thing go off somehow and kill Derrek for the sake of a joke. In a voice that falls extremely short of being a good Schwarzenegger impression, he says, "Get out."

Even so, there are a few reasons why Derrek has been one of Herc's best friends since school. One of those reasons shows in the way he immediately grasps the reference. He throws one hand up in a sharp, almost mechanical gesture and replies in a slightly more accurate voice, "Talk to the hand."

Herc returns the rifle and adds, impression-free, "Tell your babysitter you don't get dessert tonight because you're an arse."

Derrek laughs. "Of course I will. I would totally have done that even if you hadn't told me to. Because I am one hundred percent above reproach."

"Your nose just got a few centimetres longer," Herc tells him.

Derrek laughs again, louder, and as he drives off, shouts, "Tell the missus I said hi and that I'm sorry you're the best she could find!"

Herc makes an obscene gesture after him, aware he's watching in the cruiser's rearview mirror—because Derrek is one of those friends who makes every effort to irritate the people he likes—then turns to actually enter the compound. "How've things been?" he asks the troopers as he passes through the gate and pauses on the other side. "Any breaches?"

"No, sir," is the answer from the older of the two troopers, who's been with the Jaeger Program for many years. "All quiet. But please speak to Becket—it's difficult to protect him when he insists on prowling the inside of the fence and making himself an easy target."

Herc promises to say something to him and hops into a cart for the jaunt to the compound's main building.

* * *

Tendo is prompt with the report on what's been happening while Herc's been away. It seems that the DHA prosecutor's cult was following Chuck and had known about Jazmine for years; previously, two others were sent out to try to grab Jason. He's admitted that the man Jazmine killed was one of them, and though he hasn't revealed the identity of the other and doesn't seem inclined to, Herc figures it's the woman who lived in his half of the duplex right after Mister Dillon was moved out. Since she was significantly more sly and bailed before Jazmine could make her disappear, she's likely still alive and needs cover.

Herc doesn't miss the concerned look-over he gets while listening. However, Tendo says nothing about his condition, and after finishing the report waits patiently for new orders.

"Did you find that leak?"

"Yes sir. Just wanted to feel important, as far as I can tell. He shipped out a few weeks back."

"Good. And where are Jazmine and the rugrats?"

"Suite E."

Herc frowns a bit. "Why the hell are they there?"

Tendo lets out a longsuffering sigh and says, "They both said that suite A was too obvious. Yancy's middle name starts with an 'e.'"

"Whatever," Herc mutters. "Thanks. Finish up whatever you're doing and go home."

* * *

Herc knocks on the door to suite E. After a moment, Raleigh—wearing an old and stained 'kiss the cook' apron—opens the door and lets him in with a, "How are you feeling, sir?"

"Why do you ask?" Herc answers. "Do I still look like shit?" He's half dead, so he knows he does.

Raleigh just grins and goes back to the kitchenette, where he's cooking something that smells amazing. It seems Missus Becket had been quite the cook herself, to have at least two children who are quality cooks.

Mako and Jazmine are in the small sitting area with Jason and Charlotte, and both women are tending to both children while also doing their own things—Mako is working on some piece of technology Herc would never be able to identify to save his life and Jazmine is pretreating some stained baby clothes for a wash. Jason seems to have taken to Mako, because he demands her attention more than he does his mother's, leaving Jazmine to mostly care for Charlotte, who appears to be largely absorbed with the exploration of her own hands.

Jazmine finishes treating an outfit, sets it aside, then gets to her feet and turns to Herc. He feels something unknot in his chest as he looks at her—Chuck's drift phantom is relieved to see her unharmed. She approaches in silence and then lifts her arms to hug him. He returns the embrace without hesitation, putting into it all of Chuck's drift phantom's affection for her. As they part he kisses her crown, her cheek, then presses his lips chastely to hers. He's pleased that she doesn't draw away, and it doesn't come entirely from Chuck's drift phantom.

" _Daddy_!" Jason squeals, apparently finally noticing he's there.

Herc looks at his grandson and says with a smile, "Hey there, Jay. Have you been good for Mummy?"

* * *

Herc reclines on the blanket and closes his eyes. There's no need to be particularly vigilant when a privacy fence taller than he is boxes in the whole back yard and hides it from everyone. Charlotte squirms against his flank, safe on the side where there's the most shade and blanket and she's less likely to roll into the grass, heaves a huge sigh, and then goes still. Herc yawns. He listens to Jason splash violently in the kiddie pool and hears Jazmine make a melodramatic exclamation about a toy boat that must be there as well. Jason laughs. Chuck's drift phantom is at peace in his head.

Finally, Herc's world is stable again—whole enough that he thinks he might be able to find at least a little peace of his own one day. He's mostly healed and moved back into the duplex with his family, and though it's a bit cramped and noisy at times, Herc can't help believing the noise is superior to the silence. It's true that the threat of assassination by BuenaKai-hired hitmen remains possible, but Herc doesn't feel the danger to him is significantly greater than it was when he first discovered he was on cults' hit lists. He does worry about his grandchildren but is reassured by Jazmine's caution, which borders on the paranoia she warned him about when they first met.

Jazmine walks over and sits beside him, barricading Charlotte on two sides. Not that the baby's been trying to go anywhere, to be sure. "How are you?" Jazmine asks.

Herc sighs, as content as he expects he'll ever be after the horrible turn his life took so many years ago. "A little sore, but I can't say I have many complaints at this point," he replies. He opens his eyes to look at her. "Right now, there isn't much I can think of that could make this better."

She's still being deported with Jason and Charlotte, but Herc tries to console himself with the fact that she can apply for a new visa in just two years. He doesn't like it very much—wouldn't have liked anything other than her staying in Australia, really—but he also knows the kind of ruling the judge _could_ have made, and isn't keen to make the man reconsider his generosity. Jazmine doesn't know, and given her response to his past offers of assistance he's not going to tell her, but he's planning to fight to get as many of her possessions as possible back. Including her half of the duplex. As much as he values the noise his family makes, he wants her to have her own place again when she returns.

She smiles. "I suppose that makes two of us. So, what do you want for supper?"

Chuck's drift phantom clamors to have Chuck's preference noted, and Herc doesn't argue. "I think I could fit a few of your BLTs in my stomach."

Jazmine thinks about that, then says, "You, sir, have yourself a deal."

* * *

 **Finis**

* * *

 **Answers To Questions You Didn't Even Know You Wanted To Ask:**

That whole courtroom bit just . . .

ACCURACY IS IRRELEVANT IN THE FACE OF DRAMA.

Okay? XD

—

If you find this fic to be somewhat fine, please take the time to drop me a line! I'm always looking to improve, so constructive criticism is welcome. Hope you enjoyed!

~RN (LS)


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